


A Hand Reaching Out

by thethaumas



Series: Helping Hands [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Character, Auror Harry, Coping, Depression, HP: EWE, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethaumas/pseuds/thethaumas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Malfoys are put on trial. Draco must adjust to a reality where the things he grew up knowing to be truths, are wrong, and learn how to live with the lasting damage the trauma he lived through left behind. He quickly learns that thinking of Potter's hand reaching out to save him from the fire can help keep the panic at bay, but for how long? A story about coping, growing, and learning how to trust oneself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same 'verse as Resgining. Think of this as the beginning.

At eighteen Draco Malfoy was no stranger to fear, it had followed him first as a cloying whispering presence and then as a heavy cloud before it turned into an insurmountable wall that he failed to climb. Instead, every time he tried to climb the wall was slippery and he fell. And fell. And even now, now that the Dark Lord was defeated, Draco still felt like he was falling. Everything he’d grown up to count on, everything he had revered and known all his life was crumbling around him. The ministry had seized the Malfoy vaults and the Manor immediately following the aftermath of the battle at Hogwarts. Aurors had come unannounced to the Manor a few days afterward. Draco had been in one of the east wing’s drawing rooms with his mother, neither really speaking as they tried to work through what to do next when the aurors burst in and took them all into custody.

Now he sat in one of the ministry’s holding cells awaiting trial, he could only hope they were taking better care of Narcissa. He knew he deserved whatever sentence he ended up walking out of his trial with, but his mother—Draco couldn’t bear the thought of Narcissa getting locked up in Azkaban. He had little hope that Lucius would be able to walk away without prison time. Draco wasn’t even sure he wanted to see his father any time soon anyway. He picked at the pilling on the scratchy robes he’d been given when they took him in, and idly wished he could cast a warming charm or something--he was sure they must purposefully keep the holding cells extra chilly for added discomfort for the incarcerated.

He wasn’t even in possession of his wand when the aurors had come for them, he was using his mother’s when he needed to do spells. Earlier that morning they had discussed going to France to get him a new one, once everything blew over that is, since he had haltingly expressed to Narcissa that even if Potter should return his wand, he wasn’t sure he could use the wand that had killed the Dark Lord. She had given him a calm understanding look over her tea and said he was always welcome to use hers until they could secure him a proper one of his own again.

The aurors didn’t believe him at first when they demanded all their wands, but when no _accio_ could bring it forth, they’d begrudgingly accepted that Draco Malfoy’s wand was no longer in his possession.

Now he sat alone in his cell, a little glad that he didn’t have his wand when they had come, he wasn’t sure he’d want it back after the ministry had their grubby hands on it anyway. Draco heaved a big sigh and flopped backward onto the stiff cot that was one of the only other things occupying his cell aside from himself. He shivered and curled in on himself as his thoughts were invaded by fears of what would happen to him. He had not heard word yet on when his trial was set for, and a deep part inside of him shook violently in fear of getting forgotten in this dingy cell. A larger part of him was already frozen from the thought of his trial’s results, this cell was bad enough--he knew he wasn’t strong enough to withstand Azkaban and come out of his sentencing with all his mind intact.

With these thoughts, Draco drifted into a restless sleep.

His dreams, like his cell, were cold and unwelcoming. He was back in the manor, when the shadows in every room were lengthened and threatening thanks to the presence of the Dark Lord in the building. He could hear his aunt’s gleeful cackle from down the hall over the sound of someone screaming and screaming and _screaming_. Draco put his hands over his ears and crouched low to the ground, trying to make himself invisible, trying to disappear. But then there was a whisper in his ear that had him spinning around in fright. His eyes opened in time to see his mother on the ground, petrified, as the Dark Lord’s giant snake advanced upon her. Draco screamed, reaching out to her, his hand scrambling in his robes for his wand but he came up with nothing and his mother’s blue eyes met his in calm acceptance. Then he was falling into darkness, falling and falling until he was suddenly surrounded by bright hot flames and he started screaming again, afraid and boxed in by an untamed fire that stole the oxygen right from his mouth. He was going to die, Draco knew with a sudden dreadful certainty. He was about to close his eyes to accept his fate when there was a hand that shot out of the inferno, reaching out to him.

Draco woke up abruptly, gasping violently for breath, his body shaking hard. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and scrubbed his face roughly with his hands as he tried to get his heart and breathing under control. His eyes were burning with tears and he took in air in big gasping gulps. Draco leaned his head against the cold stone of his cell, closed his eyes, and focused his thoughts on just one. The memory of Potter coming back for him in the fire, of his tanned hand reaching out to pull Draco to safety. Draco’s breathing gradually slowed as he focused on the thought of someone reaching out to give him help, someone offering help without any hidden agenda or past promise of protection--he swallowed around the brief bitterness that thought brought up along with the memory of lanky black hair and a prominent nose. No. He focused again on the thought of someone reaching out to him--he had grown up secure in the knowledge of his standing in the world as a Malfoy. That should he need anything the weight of his name would get it for him, if not his father knew how to pressure the right people to grease the wheel. He’d never had to ask for help--except _that_ year, when he was offered help when he did not want it and knew it would cause him to fail.

Except, he failed anyway.

He took in another breath, it rattled on the inhale. Then he expelled it with force and focused his thoughts again on someone reaching out to him. Not just any someone, the boy who had nearly killed him over a year ago, the boy who he had sworn to hate, who he thought was his enemy. But, an enemy isn’t someone you’d pull out of a fire, and Draco found himself having to reevaluate everything he knew about the people who he could count on. Because now, now he had a tan hand reaching out to save him when it shouldn’t have been.

Draco wrapped his arms around himself and pulled his knees close to his chest. Why did Potter save him? Was he so righteously pure that he would save anyone? Draco scoffed to himself at the thought, and rubbed absently at his chest where he bore the scarring that spoke otherwise to Potter’s righteous purity. But he was _something_ , something good. Draco had always hated the attention Potter received for being nothing more than lucky, but now he wasn’t sure it was just luck. Someone who skid by only by pure sheer luck wouldn’t have turned his broom around to save his rival from certain death. There was something else about Potter, something that Draco had always refused to acknowledge.

Now though, in his dark lonely cell, all Draco had was time to mull over his mistakes that brought him here--and force himself to acknowledge that he may have always been in the wrong when it came to Potter. Draco wasn’t sure that was something he could do. It seemed insurmountable.

But every time he closed his eyes and felt himself choking on the smoke, being smothered by the flames, that persistently kind hand reached out toward him and pulled him out all over again.

 

 

He was in the ministry holding cell for two weeks before a guard came down to tell him his trial was set for three days hence. Draco asked him, with a rasping voice that was unfamiliar to him, if he would be allowed to speak to his solicitor before the trial. He would. The day before. Draco felt like laughing at the farce of a trial the ministry seemed to be insisting on.

It wasn’t until he met with his solicitor on the day before his trial, a man by the name of Devon Kingsworth who was stooped with age but had a mind like a penseive when it came to remembering the ins and outs of the law, that Draco learned what was really going on. He was brought into a room with only one door, a table, and two chairs. Kingsworth was already seated at one, and Draco was brought out with his hands bound and instructed to sit before they would release the bonds. He was bound to the table instead.

“Mr. Malfoy, I am pleased you are looking so well,” Kingsworth said, giving Draco a once-over with his piercing gaze. Draco was sure he must have looked a fright. His last shower was two days ago, and the robes they’d given him were far too large. “Come, come, we have much to go over,” he said and papers started flying out of the briefcase he had left on the table.

“What am I being charged with?” Draco asked, his voice still the unfamiliar rasping tone he seemed to have adopted in the cell.

Kingsworth gave him a look and tapped the papers with his wand, they immediately shuffled together into a neat pile that fluttered down in front of Draco. “Attempted murder of Headmaster Dumbledore, reckless endangerment for allowing knowing criminals into the school grounds; both are being tried under the understanding that you were a minor at the time of the crimes. For the others: seven known counts of torture, one use of an unforgivable, and five counts of unlawful imprisonment.” Kingsworth said, his thin lips falling into his customary frown.

Draco felt his throat dry up. It took a moment before he could find his words to ask, “And what is the sentence they are after?”

This time Kingsworth’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at his client, “Seizing the Malfoy accounts and property, and ten years in azkaban.”

Draco felt like his mind was working through a fog, “But wouldn’t they attempt to seize the accounts and property from my father?”

Now Kingsworth smiled, “I believe that had originally been the intent, however, with a quick word or two they realized that as the heir to the estate you would lay claim to it in the circumstance that you were set free and Lucius was imprisoned and stripped of all claims.”

By the way that Kingsworth puffed up and seemed quietly proud of himself, Draco knew those were his words, and he said as much. “So you intend to see me cleared of all charges?”

“But of course, Mr. Malfoy. Now I need you to look over these papers, they are the evidence the prosecution will present.”

Draco touched the papers in front of him and looked down, barely seeing the words. “But, how? I did all those things.”

There was no mistaking the joyful gleam in Kingsworth’s eye now, “Why, Mr. Malfoy, not only were you forced to do them all under duress, for which we will make a heady case as that would be hard for any prosecution to refute--but if you’ll look at the list of witnesses,” Draco shuffled through the papers, “Yes, yes that one there. You’ll see that Mr. Harry Potter came forward as a witness in your defence.”

Draco’s hands went slack. Right there on the paper underneath his mother’s name, and strangely Severus Snape’s memories, was Harry Potter’s name written with flourish.

He blinked hard. He shook his head. It didn’t clear, the name was still there in black ink.

“But why?” he whispered to the ink, wondering what Potter could be thinking.

Kingsworth was giving him an inscrutable look, and Draco quickly shook himself out of his musings to look at the rest of the paperwork his solicitor had brought along. Even while he read through the evidence against him, even after Kingsworth had gone and he was back in his cold cell awaiting his trial the next day, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Potter was a witness for his defence, and Draco just couldn’t reconcile that.

His sleep was stuttered and restless that night. When he woke to the guard banging on his cell door he was groggy and slower than he would have liked to face the trial that would set the course for the rest of his life. He was given the clothing he came in to wear for the trial, Kingsworth insisted he be allowed to sit trial and look like a wizard, and not like a prisoner. Draco was surprised he was allowed this much.

The wizengamot was in full session for the Death Eater trials, and the walk down to the courtroom his would be held in was long and silent. Draco would have thought that there would be people trying to get in to watch the fall of the Malfoys, but perhaps he had not given the aurors enough credit to enforce order in the ministry.    

He was escorted into the room and brought to the defence chair before he was bound down to it. Kingsworth was already sitting in his chair next to Draco. Draco took a look around, noting the witches and wizards who would be judging the trial, and the older man who was the lawyer for the prosecution. The viewing seats were filled, and Draco noted a few faces he recognized from school, none of them looked very friendly right now. He supposed the witnesses weren’t allowed into the trial until their time to speak as he saw the bushy hair of Granger, but the shock of red of the Weasley entourage he expected wasn’t there. 

Draco took in a deep breath and looked up to face his accusers. The fear that threatened to overwhelm him he squashed down by thinking of Potter’s hand reaching out to him. If the Savior of the Wizarding World thought there was something about him worth saving, Draco could have faith that Kingsworth would get him a lighter sentence than what the wizengamot intended.

 

It took hours. Draco had to keep his breathing under control to keep himself from feeling too fidgety as the prosecution, a Mr. Robert Sullivan, examined the witnesses against Draco. Their testimony was rather damning, and Draco found himself shooting Kingsworth a few confused and desperate looks. Kingsworth returned them with self-assured glances of his own, and Draco had to calm himself down. Kingsworth was the best, that was why he was the Malfoy family lawyer, and if he thought he could win the trial without jail time for Draco, he would just have to trust him.

After Kingsworth had compassionately cross-examined the witnesses against the defense he called in their witnesses, starting with the memories from Snape. Draco found himself choking back an overwhelming surge of emotion when he saw his old professor alive, and relatively well, as he conversed with Narcissa about the unbreakable vow. Then, more as he spoke to Dumbledore about Draco’s assignment. There was a shock gasp that reverberated through the courtroom, and that Draco found himself part of when Dumbledore mentioned how he had little time left.

Draco swallowed down an influx of bitterness, the old man was already dying, and he had still tried to stop Draco. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

When the memories had finished, Narcissa took the witness stand. She spoke of the assignment Draco was given, of making Professor Snape take the unbreakable vow to protect him, and Draco felt his old hackles rising up--he didn’t need protection. He swallowed that down as well, it was an outdated reaction, and right now he was grateful for any protection he could afford. When Narcissa finished speaking of the year they spent with the Dark Lord as the ruler of their home, she gave Draco a look of such sadness he had to look away. She was escorted out by a flanking of aurors--Kingsworth had informed Draco earlier that her own trial wasn’t until tomorrow. Lucius would not be tried until the following week. Draco had a feeling the ministry was planning on a circus show for that trial, and that was why they got his and his mother’s out of the way first.

Draco was sure he imagined the hush that came over the room before Kingsworth called Harry Potter as a witness for the defense, but he certainly did not imagine the silence that enveloped the room afterward. The opening of the hall doors to admit Potter echoed in the silence, then the only sound was the thump of Potter’s shoes. From his place near the front, facing the wizengamot, Draco could not turn to see Potter’s entrance. Only when he entered the open area of the courtroom did Draco get his first look at Potter since he defeated Lord Voldemort.

Draco’s carefully regulated breathing stuttered out. Potter look like a storm forced to take the form of a man. His green eyes were sharp and alert as he first assessed those up in the judgment chairs, then the prosecution, before landing on Draco. The raised eyebrow and small smirk were the only cracks in the stormy facade. Potter’s hair was a wreck, but it looked like a purposeful styling to intimidate. He wore long black robes with an underlying maroon stitching to them, his buttons were a shining silver, and clasped all the way to his throat--almost like he was channeling Professor Snape’s look, but with an undeniable Gryffindor flair. Potter took the stand graciously, and it was as though the room reformed to centre around his energy. Energy that he was certainly thrumming with. Draco felt his fingers twitch in response, he wanted to reach out and touch that energy so badly.

Kingsworth smiled at Potter, and gave him a small nod before he started in on his questioning. “Would you state your name for the record?”

Potter gave Kingsworth a smirk and rolled his shoulders, “Harry James Potter,” he said, his eyes holding an inherent challenge.

“Good, now, you know Mr. Malfoy from school, correct?” Kingsworth asked, walking around the open area between the tables for the defense and prosecution, and the witness stand.

“Yes,” Potter said with a nod, looking at Draco, “We were yearmates at Hogwarts.”

“Would you say you know him rather well then?”

Potter shifted then, and looked out into the crowd where Draco was sure he caught Granger’s eye. “Not really, no. I mean, we were in the same year, and I’ve known him since we were both eleven. We were never really good friends, but I knew him well enough I suppose.”

Kingsworth nodded, apparently pleased by this answer. “You know his character, though, do you not?”

This time Potter smiled, “Yes.”

“Good, good. Now, you specifically requested coming in as a witness for the defense, did you not Mr. Potter?”

“Yes,” Potter answered succinctly with a nod.

“Why?” Kingsworth came around to give Potter a curious, but Draco knew to be put upon, look.

At this Potter shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, and again Draco could sense the room shifting to centre around him. “Well, on the night in question for his crimes he is tried for as a minor, when Dumbledore died, I’m the only remaining witness who was alive for the event.” At this, the crowd elicited another shocked gasp that Draco couldn’t help himself from making as well. Potter was there? On that awful night? Of course he was. It seemed he was witness for all of Draco’s failings. “Aside from that, I need to testify on his behalf as someone who lied to protect me from Voldemort during the war--had he not then it is very likely I would not have been able to defeat Voldemort.” Potter said, his eyebrows arching in relish when not only the crowd, but the witches and wizards set to judge Draco made uncomfortable murmurings over the use of Voldemort’s name.

Kingsworth appeared to be relishing in their discomfort as well, as he came closer to the witness stand and leaned against it conspiratorially. “Could you tell us the details of both nights in question?”

Potter shrugged, an elegant rolling of his shoulders that had Draco wondering when he learned to do that--he’d been watching Potter for years and the only time the boy was elegant was when he was on a broom. “I suppose I should start in chronological order then?” he said, and then continued to relate the events that happened both on the astronomy tower as Draco remembered them, and a bit of what happened before to make sure the judges understood that Dumbledore was going to die anyway. His sardonic grin and raised eyebrows flattened out into something more somber as he remembered the night the Headmaster died.

When he finished Kingsworth graciously offered a handkerchief to Potter who gave him a grateful smile and took the offered cloth, holding it loosely in his fist. “Thank you for that, Mr. Potter. That was most enlightening.”

“Of course, I’m happy to help. Now, you wanted to know about the night that Draco lied to save me and my friends from Voldemort?” he asked, his gaze returning to the audience, and Draco knew then he was definitely holding Granger’s eyes when he gave a small nod. He then proceeded to paint a horrendous picture of the night in question, making sure to illustrate the drab conditions the manor was in under Voldemort’s rule. He then painted a picture of Draco not identifying him as a much more heroic and brave act than Draco remembered it being, and the whole time his green eyes bored into Draco. Draco shifted uncomfortably, feeling himself flush under the intense stare.

When he finished recounting that night, the weight of the stares of everyone else in the room was different than it had been when Draco had entered hours ago.

Kingsworth cleared his throat loudly, gaining their attention once more. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. As you can see, respected members of the wizengamot, were it not for the brave actions of Mr. Malfoy here, it is highly possible that the tide of the war would have turned out differently.”

“Very differently, for it was Draco’s wand that I used to defeat Voldemort, and without it, he might still be alive.” Potter cut in, a sweet little smile on his face that he kept in place when he looked up at the judges. “If you ask me, I’d say that someone like Draco here’s actions in the war cannot be judged as mere black-and-white. That he did despicable things not because he wanted to, but instead because he _had_ to. I know this because when it counted, when it really counted, he showed his true colors.” Potter sat back in his seat and surveyed the crowd.

Draco shifted in his own chair, uncomfortable with Potter’s assessment of him. He wasn’t brave. He hadn’t done the right thing out of some strong desire to do any good, it was just the only thing he _could_ do. Draco stifled the urge to sink down in his chair, and instead forced himself to meet Potter’s gaze head on.

Sullivan stood up and protested, saying that Potter’s opinion did not matter to the final judgement of Draco’s fate. Kingsworth waved him away saying that it was up to the court, but he wouldn’t be the one to dismiss the opinion of their Saviour. Draco was sure he must not have been the only one to notice the way Potter’s lips tightened when he was called their saviour. The head witch banged her gavel and called for order and said they would take it all under advisement before she thanked Potter for his time. And so his trial wound down. After Potter shuffled out the prosecution and defence made their closing remarks before the wizengamot adjourned for making their judgement.  

The crowd filed out of the courtroom as they waited for the recess to end, Kingsworth told Draco it could be anywhere from an hour to a day. He packed up his briefcase and left to get some lunch. Draco had to stay in the courtroom or he would be escorted back to his cell.

 

“Malfoy!” came a voice from behind him. By now the majority of the crowd had shuffled out so when Draco turned around and saw Granger staring at him it wasn’t hard to guess who had called out.

“Yes?” he asked, unsure what she could want.

“Come here,” she said, waving him over. He briefly wondered where Potter had gotten to, he was sure he’d be waiting outside for his friend.

Draco got up and warily went over to her, wondering if she had some back up plan to get back at him if Potter’s testimony successfully got him off.

She gave him an exasperated look at his slow approach and reached over to grab his arm, pulling him over to the bench she had been sitting on. “Come here,” she said, and then quieter, “Harry wanted to talk to you.”

Draco blinked at her, then at the empty bench that he was sure now was not as empty as it appeared. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to speak with the witnesses until the trial is over.”

Granger rolled her eyes, “They’re deciding now anyway, it’s not like it’d do anything to talk to him now.” she let go of his arm and took a look around the room, which by now had emptied of everyone except them. “Okay, it’s clear.”

Potter’s head appeared then, grinning boyishly at Draco. “Hey,” he said cheerily.

Draco took a step back, “Hey,” he said, feeling very much out of his depth.

Potter let out a bark of laughter and reached out to pull Draco down onto the bench with him. “I think you’ll be fine, Malfoy.”

Draco pulled his arm free and gave Potter a look. “I don’t understand, why did you testify on my behalf?” he gave a sharper look to Granger, “And why are you being so friendly? You two hate me.”

The boyish grin fell for a moment, and Granger even looked a little sheepish, which Draco didn’t understand at all, given everything he was sure he should be sheepish around them. He definitely owed more than an apology to Granger, after she was tortured under his roof.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Granger said at last, giving Draco a steely look. “And, you’ve been just as much a pawn as we were in a game we never wanted to play,” Draco felt maybe they needed reminding how eager he was as a child to join his father, though it would do no good to bring up now, but Granger stayed his words with a raised hand. “No, look you were a right little shit, and you might still be a bit of one but--”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve to rot in Azkaban,” Potter interrupted. “We’ve had enough of our peers die in this war, I couldn’t sit back and watch as they made an example of you or whatever they were planning.” He shared a brief look with Granger, “You’re more than just your father’s shadow, Malfoy.” he said, and seemed like he wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips together instead and gave Draco a long look.

Draco looked down at his hands. He didn’t deserve their help, their forgiveness that seemed implicit in their actions, and he certainly didn’t deserve their kindness. So he stared at his hands, his bony thin fingers and the veins he could see through his skin, he didn’t know what to say or how to say anything to them, he couldn’t say anything at all. Then there was a hand covering his, the same tanned hand that reached out to him all those weeks ago. He studied Potter’s hand, how it was a much warmer tone than his, how it was callused and scarred from his life, how it was heavy and warm and real on top of his cold hands. He looked up then, catching a melancholy expression on Potter’s face, and he knew what to say. The words came out rasping and scratched, like they had been hidden away for too long to work right, but he forced them out anyway, genuinely saying, “Thank you,” for the first time in a long time. “Thank you,” he said again, earnestly, trying to display how much he meant it through his eyes as he met Potter’s gaze, and then looked over to Granger--he needed her to know it was meant for her too. These two, they were so much stronger than him, so much better, and here they were at his trial, being kind to him. He had no more words to say, so he quieted, but continued to watch them both carefully.

Granger moved first, despite the warm weight of Potter’s hand on his, she was quicker to recover. She took a step toward him and rose her hand hesitantly, but then it landed on Draco’s shoulder and she squeezed him gently. When Draco met her sympathetic brown eyes he felt something in him shatter apart.

“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, he could feel his lungs squeezing. “I’m so, so sorry for what she did to you. I should have done something--I should have--” then suddenly, he wasn’t sure how, but he was crying, and his words got swallowed by gasping. He released his hands from Potter’s hold to grab Granger’s arms. “I was so horrible to you, but please, you must know I never,” he shook his head and gasped again, feeling the flames coming up around him and he couldn’t breathe at all.

Granger’s hand on his shoulder squeezed harder, pulling his mind out of the fire and into the present. “I know,” she said firmly, “But I do appreciate hearing it,” she said with a small smile. Then her face was right up in his, her eyes studying him intently. “Thank you,” she said sincerely and then backed away again, giving his arm another squeeze.

Then Potter was near again, his impossible storm inside giving him a heat that Draco’s body turned toward to thaw by. His hand was reaching for Draco’s again, only this time he pushed a handkerchief into Draco’s shaking hands. He didn’t say anything, just studied Draco intently as he wiped his wet eyes and got his breathing under control. He knew he didn’t deserve their kindness or this gentle quietness, and yet they gave it to him. They gave it to him without seeming to want anything in return. And it made Draco feel so lost.

He sat with them for a while longer, in the quiet, he’d break it up to ask questions or try to apologize when he felt his lungs squeezing painfully the fire flaring up around him again. But mostly they sat in the quiet while they waited for the wizengamot to return with their decision.

When they heard the chime that meant the wizengamot was returning Draco hurried back to his chair and he saw Potter slip his cloak back on before Granger seated herself in a way that discouraged anyone from sitting too close. Kingsworth was quickly at Draco’s side while the rest of the courtroom filled up as the wizengamot shuffled in slowly.

Once everyone was seated the head witch banged her gavel to quiet the courtroom. “We have reached a decision, if the accused would please rise,” she said and Draco quickly stood up. Shoulders back and straight he tried to show confidence, but also remorse in his posture, he only hoped it came through. “On the charges of attempted murder, torture, and reckless endangerment we find the defendant not guilty by means of coercion. On the charges of unlawful imprisonment we find the defendant not guilty. On the charges of use of an unforgivable we find the defendant guilty.” Draco let out a breath, and tried to keep his postured right when all he wanted to do was sag in relief. “We, the wizengamot, charge the defendant with use of an unforgivable and require one hundred hours of community service for the crime, as it was committed whilst under duress. The Malfoy family vaults and properties will be released to your name, with a charge set by the ministry for war reparations due to be paid by the end of the year.” She finished, her voice ringing clear throughout the room. Then she tapped her wand against a parchment in front of her and it rolled up immediately before duplicating itself. One roll zipped over to Kingsworth’s waiting hands.

Those in the audience of the courtroom sat in silence for a moment before the murmuring began. Draco only heard it as a dull buzzing in his ear. He stood still, blinking hard. He was _free_. Quickly he turned around to get a look at Granger and invisible Potter, but she must have slipped out before the commotion really started since the bench was empty. That was fine, he knew he would see them again, but then he might be equipped to repay their kindness. For now, for now he could breathe and the fire stayed low.

 

 

 


	2. Two

That night Draco found himself back at home, back at the manor. This time he was alone in the large empty estate and he could not help the shiver that ran down his spine when he walked in through the receiving room where he had come in through the floo. The whole place was cold, dark, and unwelcoming, in stark contrast to the way he remembered it growing up--a large warm place full of light. But then, it hadn’t been that way in a few years now, and Draco felt himself lost for a moment in a wave of melancholia.

After a moment there was a pop next to him signifying the house elf, Lark, arriving by his side. The elf made a low bow before saying, “It is good to have you home, Master Malfoy.”

Draco nodded at the elf. “Are my rooms ready for me?” he asked, sure they must have been in a state if the aurors had gone through the manor looking for evidence.

Lark slowly looked up at her master, “Of course, your rooms is ready, sir.”

Draco quickly started for his room, he would have to deal with cleaning out the lingering dark presence in the manor in order to stay here, but for now he just wanted to curl up in the comfort of his own bed after a long hot shower. He felt like he had frozen while in the ministry holding cell, and despite the fire that kept flaring up in his mind, he just couldn’t keep warm. Lark nodded at her master’s departure and disappeared from the room.

His room looked the same as it had when he left it a few weeks ago, but even here he could feel the creeping in of the dark presence the Dark Lord had left behind. He shuddered again and hurried into his bathroom, turning the faucets of the shower on as hot as they would go.

The hot water was a balm as it beat down on his frozen skin. Draco stayed under until his skin was red from the heat, and even then he was loathe to get out, only when he felt a little weak from the steam and the heat did he decide to step out and quickly dried himself off. Without his wand, or his mother’s he could not cast a heating charm on himself so he wrapped himself up in some of his warmest sleeping clothing  and curled up on his bed. After a while he heard the pop of an elf coming in followed by the sweet warmth of a charm settling over him, and soon he was asleep.

 

He found himself standing in one of the halls in the manor, it was dark, the lights that should have automatically lit at his presence stayed off. Something was very wrong, but it had been wrong for months now and Draco was chagrined to find himself getting accustomed to this new normal his life had become. He carefully crept along the dark hallway and startled when he heard a moaning scream not far off. Suppressing a shudder at the sound, he continued along the hall until he reached an open door, he must have been walking in the west wing since he was now in the portrait room, but everything was all wrong. None of his ancestors were in their frames, leaving the portraits stark and unnaturally frozen. When his gaze fell to the centre of the room, he knew why he was hearing screaming moans. HIs unhinged aunt was gleefully cutting into the flesh of Granger’s arm while she thrashed around screaming in pain.

Draco knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there and let his aunt torture Granger, not matter how much she aggravated and infuriated him. No matter how much shame he felt being constantly beaten in academics by her, he couldn’t--no one deserved to be at the hands of Bellatrix. “Stop!” he shouted, surprised by the forcefulness of his own voice, but it didn’t seem to matter, Bellatrix didn’t even react to the sound. He reached into his robes for his wand, relishing in the way he felt centred and right when his hand wrapped around the wood. He pulled it out and quickly shot a stunning spell at his aunt.

She laughed harder and turned around, morphing as she did into the visage of the Dark Lord. He continued laughing, his red eyes gleaming as he stared into Draco. Draco could feel the intrusion as he tried to break into Draco’s mind, and he called up the walls of occlumency that Severus had taught him.

“Have something to hide, little Malfoy?” the Dark Lord asked, his smile vicious and cruel. Behind him, Granger whimpered on the ground.

Draco’s stomach clenched in terror when the Dark Lord advanced on him, pointing his wand at Draco. His legs buckled and the floor rose up to meet him, burning and roiling with heat.

Draco rolled and tried to right himself, and woke up when there was a clatter next to his bed. He sat up immediately, breathing hard, looking for the source of the sound and saw another house elf, Sutter, putting a tray of food down on the table beside his bed.

The elf looked over at Draco with wide eyes when he took in his master’s state, “Master needs to be eating,” he said, and levitated the tray to Draco’s lap. “Master needs to get better.” his large eyes were giving Draco and imploring look.

Draco reached out to put his shaking hands down on the tray, it was loaded with a full dinner of roasted turkey, steamed vegetables, and russet potatoes. When he breathed in and the scent of the food invaded his nostrils his stomach clenched violently and he pushed the tray away in his haste to get to the washroom before he vomited. He only made it to the doorway before he fell to his knees and expelled everything from his body in violent heaving. Sutter was by his side in an instant, banishing the vomit once it hit the ground, and spelling a cold cloth to his forehead as his body shook, and his stomach continued to heave even after he had nothing left in it to evacuate.

“Master is needing to rest.” Sutter said, hovering nearby while Draco attempted to get control of his body.

He turned his head to look at the elf and felt his legs turn to jelly, if he hadn’t already been crouching on the ground he would have collapsed. “Sutter--” he started, his voice weak and strained, and even that proved too much effort for his body for his vision went black and he collapsed.

 

When he regained consciousness it was a slow process, he opened his eyes but couldn’t see anything for a moment before his vision swam back into focus and he realized he was back in his bed. Sutter must have gotten the other elves to help him put Draco back to bed. He felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck when he thought of collapsing in front of his house elf. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but there was definitely something _very_ wrong. He didn’t have time for figuring it out though, he could see light filtering through the curtains of his room and knew it must be the next day, which meant the day of his mother’s trial, and he _could not_ miss it.

He rose slowly, worried the he might have been pushing his body too hard, which led to the way it violently failed him the night before. Lark was quickly by his side, helping Draco get into some of his most formidable robes, he knew he needed to present his best face. That of the grateful reformed Death Eater, the heir to the Malfoy name, and the loyal son. He straightened his robes in the mirror and assessed his appearance, his robes were a dark navy, offset by shining silver buttons, they did not wash out his pale complexion but still produced an air of authority. Draco nodded at his reflection and turned to go to the floo and get to the ministry in time for the trial.

 

Narcissa’s charges were much less severe than Draco’s, as she was only known for consorting with known Death Eaters and housing Lord Voldemort, the wizengamot was after three years in Azkaban followed by community works. Draco was sure Kingsworth would find a way to get her out of the charges. He wasn’t expecting Potter to show up as a witness to defend her as well, and was honestly surprised at the friendly look they shared when he took the seat at the witness stand again.

Then Potter was off, talking about the night of the battle at Hogwarts, how he went out into the woods to face Voldemort (and again, Draco noted the judges shuddered at the name). When he described how Narcissa had been the one to check if he had died, and upon noting he was alive was only concerned with finding out if Draco was alive, Draco felt something deep inside shift. He was sure that Potter was embellishing what really happened, as he had done with when Draco lied about his identity, but then he looked at his mother and noted the way she had her hands clasping one another in front of her--a stance he was familiar with her taking when she was slightly uncomfortable and he knew that it must have happened that way. His mother risked herself by bald faced lying to the Dark Lord, because of him, just because he lived. He felt his heart swell with affection for his mother, and had to take in a few deep breaths to get his emotions under control again.

Narcissa’s trial wrapped up quickly, and Draco was relieved, but not surprised when all charges were dropped. He waited only a moment after the verdict was read before he made his way down from the gallery to his mother. She was already turned toward him and pulled him into a tight embrace when he neared.

“I’m so glad you are safe, my pet,” she said as she pressed her lips to his hair.

Draco squeezed her tightly, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in, “Me too, mum, me too,” he whispered against her before pulling back. “Now you can come home with me.”

Narcissa smiled at him and reached out to push his hair away from his face, “Yes, but first I need to thank Mr. Potter.” she said, and looked up over Draco’s shoulder.

He turned around to see Potter standing there, watching them with a curiously reserved expression on his face that morphed into a small smile when he saw them both looking at him. “Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, and then nodded at Draco, “Malfoy.”

Narcissa stepped away from Draco to glide over to Potter in a few elegant steps. “There are not words to express the extent of my gratitude toward you, Mr. Potter. However, I do hope my thanks may convey at least a bit of it.” She said, as she reached out to put her hands on Potter’s shoulders as she smiled at him.

Potter’s eyes widened and he flushed, “It’s--you’re welcome.” he stammered and looked down at his shoes for a moment before looking up again and saying, “Call me Harry,” with the boyish grin Draco saw the day before.

Narcissa’s laugh was high and rung like a bell in the courtroom that had gone still around them, the audience had frozen when they saw the interaction between Draco’s mother and Potter. She pulled Potter into a hug and said quietly, but loud enough Draco at least could hear her, “Then you must call me Narcissa.” Before pulling back and giving Potter a long look. “I do hope to see you again soon, dear.”

A dark red flush stained Potter’s cheeks and he nodded quickly, “Of course,” he said and grinned again.

Narcissa seemed to examine him for another moment longer before stepping away and saying graciously, “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, it has been quite a tiring day.” Potter nodded and stepped back and away from the exit path. She turned and linked her arm with Draco’s and gave Potter another nod before walking out of the courtroom.

 

They walked in silence toward the floo, and it wasn’t until they were in the foyer at the manor that Draco said anything. “Mum?” was all he said, giving her a curious look, knowing that she’d understand the question.

Narcissa turned from giving the foyer a dark look to give a lighter, more sympathetic one to her son. “I think it’s time I got to know Mr. Potter better,” she said with an air of finality, her decision was not open for discussion.

Draco nodded once, “Okay,” he said, his voice quiet again.

“Oh, my pet, I know you have had your differences with him, but after the way he pardoned both of us, I think it would behoove us to ally ourselves with him now.” Then, in a completely uncharacteristic motion, she screwed up her lips in distaste, “Something that we should have done long ago.”

This, Draco understood. He’d spent many nights right here in the manor after the Dark Lord had taken residence, thinking about how if he hadn’t acted so badly after being spurned by Potter at eleven, things might not have turned out so bleak. He shuddered, his mind going back to that dark time, and quickly he found himself gasping for breath as the fire closed around his mind. His vision blackened and his legs gave out from under him as he felt the fire suck the air right out of his lungs.

Narcissa was at his side in two quick strides and kneeled to grab Draco’s shoulders and keep him from hurting himself when his legs failed. “Draco! Draco!” she said, desperately, and cradled him to her.

Draco could hear and feel her, but his vision didn’t return and he felt his panic ratchet up another notch when he realized his eyes were open and he couldn’t see.

“Breathe, breathe Draco. Please.” Narcissa said, her voice tight and strained.

The fire quieted at hearing his mother’s voice and Draco found he could take in a large breath, quickly followed by another and another. Feeling started to return to his legs, and his vision grayed before returning. He found he was sprawled half on the floor, and half in his mother’s lap. She held him tightly and was rocking him gently.

When she saw his eyes focus on her face she gave him a worried little smile, “has this been happening long?” she asked, still holding him tightly.

Draco felt too weak to be embarrassed by the way she was holding him, or by the way he had collapsed. He knew he would later, but right now it was terribly nice to feel so comforted and safe. “A few weeks,” he said, his voice rough and ruined like he’d been screaming.

Narcissa made a small noise at that and continued rocking him gently. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” she said before calling for Lark. She ordered her to brew some strong ginger tea and bring it up to Draco’s room and then she apparated them both to his room.

Draco let her maneuver him into his bed, feeling drained and exhausted, and didn’t fuss when she tucked him into the blankets. Lark popped into the room shortly and put the tea service down on the table by Draco’s bed.

“Tea is ready, Mistress.” she said with a bow and backed up into the shadows in the corner of the room, staying near in case she was needed.

Narcissa quickly poured Draco some tea and squeezed a lemon into it before pressing the cup into Draco’s hands, “Drink this, it should help settle your nerves a bit.” When she saw the way Draco’s hands were trembling when he grasped the cup she pressed her lips together into a thin line, “Oh, I wish Severus were here, he’d know a potion to help you immediately.”

He sipped slowly at his tea, the bite of the ginger helping clear his head and settle his stomach. When he drank half of the cup Draco looked up at his mother with a small grateful smile, “Thank you,” he said his voice slightly hoarse.

“Of course,” Narcissa said and patted his arm. “Perhaps he left some journals behind.” she said, and seemed to be lost in thought.

Draco finished up the cup of tea and watched as she stepped away from his bed to walk slowly around his room as she worked through her train of thought. After a moment she turned to him again and said, “I would like to get a healer to take a look at you,” then her face clouded over, “I’m not sure who we can trust though.”

Draco understood her worry, now it would be hard to tell who they could trust that they had before, especially since Narcissa was serious about allying with Potter. He shrugged back into his pillows and Lark came and took his teacup from his hands, putting it on the tea service tray. Right now, he’d let Narcissa worry about it--he could feel the exhaustion pulling heavy at his eyelids and could hardly think of anything aside from how comfortable he felt.

 

Wakefulness came slowly to him, like he was fighting through a sticky spiderweb to regain consciousness, made all the more confusing since he had not realized he’d fallen asleep. Once he was aware, he noticed that his room was dark with the curtains tightly drawn, and his mother was no longer in the room. The tea service was still at the side of his bed and when he touched the pot he was pleased to feel that it had a warming charm in place, so he poured himself another cup and squeezed one of the lemon wedges into the tea. Draco swung his legs over the side of his bed and sipped at his tea while staring into space as he thought.

For all the things one could call him, Draco was no fool, he had thought-- _hoped_ \--the panic that overwhelmed him was just a temporary thing while he dealt with what had happened both with the fiendfyre and the year he’d spent in terror in his own home. The attacks he was suffering now, still, forced him to come to terms with the fact that he was not dealing with what had happened well. And, he swallowed a large mouthful of tea, and that he might need help to do so. When Draco had done his own research while taking occlumency lessons from Severus, he learned of the importance of a healthy mind to maintain strong mental shields. He had brought it up with Severus, but his mentor had scoffed at seeing a mind healer so Draco had dropped the subject and let it fall to the wayside, he had far too many other things to worry about at that time anyway.

Now though, as his hands trembled a little while he held his tea, and he had to keep his mind focused on Potter’s hand reaching out to pull him out of the fire so he wouldn’t have another attack, now he thought that maybe Severus did not know best about this matter.

Draco set the teacup aside when he started to feel a chill pool in his stomach. He braced a hand against it as he got up to take a shower, a little convinced that the warm water would help him stay calm.

When he got out of the shower he was feeling slightly less jittery. He was pleased to see one of the house elves had hung clothing up for him to change into, though he was feeling better, the thought of rummaging through his closet without the aid of his wand was daunting. After dressing himself, he set off to wander through the manor in search of either his mother, or the large clock in front hall to find the time. Mostly they relied on tempus charms, but the clock in the hall was a special astronomical clock that had been commissioned by his great-great grandmother. It stood tall, proud, and imposing in the hall and Draco knew he could rely on it for accurate time, even when he could not use his wand to cast a spell.

He flexed his hands at his sides as he wandered down the halls, the lights turned on automatically at his presence, but without his wand he felt naked and vulnerable. Draco tried not to think about it and focus on putting his feet in front of one another as he made his way down the hall outside of his bedroom. If he didn’t think about not having his wand, maybe he could keep the panic at bay.

A few more steps and he’d be at the bend in the hall that led to his parents room. Three more. Two. Something far off made a loud clattering sound and Draco’s heart sped immensely. He froze. It wasn’t safe out here. He could feel the malignant stain of magic creeping upon him and wanted to curl up and disappear. But he was out in the open in the hall, and it wasn’t safe out here. The flames in his mind flared up and surrounded him, beginning to choke off his air. Draco staggered in his steps and reached a hand out to lean against the wall. When his hand made contact it helped bring his mind back to the present. The image of Potter’s hand flashed in his mind and he was able to bring his breathing under control again.

Once he felt like he could continue, he realized he was sweating profusely and shivered when the cold air in the manor touched his fevered skin. He kept walking toward his mother’s room, not even really remembering why he’d gotten out of bed to find her in the first place. As he continued slowly down the hall, he remembered, he wanted to bring up finding a mind healer. Even though she had already expressed worry about finding a general healer they could trust, Draco was sure even more each time the fire took over his mind that he needed to find someone to help him keep it at bay.

Though, he thought, as he neared her door, he already had someone who helped. Despite the kindness Potter had shown him recently, Draco wasn’t comfortable reaching out to his past rival for help in this matter. He knew he hadn’t broken down his own walls of distrust and hatred for Potter yet. He was aware of how his judgements of Potter were wrong now, he knew that Potter was a good person, he knew he had to get past his envy and jealousy of the way Potter’s life had  always seemed so charmed--but knowing these things did not mean that he could actually do them yet. Having to reevaluate what he had grown up valuing, and having to swallow his pride and outwardly admit his was wrong were two very different yet equally difficult things.

Finally he reached the door to his mother’s rooms and knocked with as much strength as he could muster, he was chagrined at how little he had left after the brief attack in the hall. He leaned heavily against the door while he waited for her to answer.

When there was no answer after a few minutes of waiting, and more knocking, Draco lifted his head off the door and called out for Lark. The elf appeared by his side in a blink.

“What is master needing?” Lark asked.

“Where is my mother?” Draco asked in return.

Lark nodded eagerly, this was something she could help with. “Mistress is in the drawing room.” She sized Draco up with her large eyes and then asked, “Lark should be calling Mistress here?”

“No, that’s all right,” Draco said with a weary breath. He wasn’t sure he’d make it to the drawing room without another attack, but he needed to try. For himself. “Just let her know I’m on my way.”

Lark nodded again before disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived.

 

Draco pushed himself off the wall and started making his way to the drawing room, very, very slowly. Everytime he heard the creaks of the manor settling, or a shuffling of an elf cleaning, he jumped in fright and had to stop his progress while he tried to regain control of himself. The fire was quick to engulf him, and the whole walk he felt it like a heavy weight on his mind, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

When he finally made it to the drawing room, after far more stops and having to focus on Potter’s stupid hand more than he liked to count, he found his mother sitting in her favourite light blue chair. She was staring intently at the fire in the grate and held an amber cigarette holder loosely in one hand, the bud sending curling smoke up to the ceiling. Her head snapped up at his approach and her eyes crinkled at the sides a little when she smiled at him.

“You’ve made it, my pet,” she said, looking unduly proud of him for making a walk he’d made hundreds of times in his life. She shook the holder, the ash banishing as soon as it was free from the cigarette. Draco gave her a bemused look, Narcissa never smoked. He had seen her smoking only a few times as a child, but they were so few and far between they were like looking at a memory through water. The holder she grasped lightly between her first and middle fingers he had played with as a child, and learned quickly that it had special value to her aside from the value it held due to what it was made from. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said with a light laugh, “Lucius isn’t here.”

Draco just nodded and took a seat one the black settee that was positioned facing the chair Narcissa was in.

Narcissa smiled tightly at her son before taking a drag from her cigarette. “Did I ever tell you how I started smoking, Draco?”

“No,” Draco said, looking at her curiously, she rarely spoke about herself to him--only when it was just the two of them. He often found himself thirsty for more information about the person his mother had been before she married his father.

“It was back when I was at Hogwarts myself. When Bellatrix thought that being dark and unpredictable was rebelling against our parents--” she gave Draco a sharp look, accompanied by a sardonic laugh. “As if acting mad isn’t a requisite for being a Black.” She waved her hand and an arc of smoke puffed above her head. “Anyway, back then I was closer to Andy, she certainly knew how to rebel. My mother could not stand her daughter going by such a common and masculine name, when she’d been gifted one of such prestige as Andromeda.” Narcissa laughed again, and Draco was intrigued, she _never_ spoke about her older sister. “Andy hung out with the muggleborns, that’s how she ended up meeting Ted Tonks, and through them she learned about muggle cigarettes.” She waved her hand again for emphasis, “They are honestly so much better than the magic ones that make pretty shapes with the smoke. Wizards haven’t figured out how to make them taste quite as good as these.”

“Oh,” Draco said, finally realizing why Lucius hated it when she’d smoke. He had always thought it had to do with the smell of it, or the idea that a lady shouldn’t smoke. It had never occurred to him that his mother somehow got and smoked muggle cigarettes.

Narcissa gave him a soft look before saying, “You know, dear, there were so many times these past couple of years where I wanted to squirrel you away from the mess your father had made. When I couldn’t do that, I wished I could take out outside for a smoke, there’s something very calming about taking a break for a cigarette.” A gentle frown pulled at her lips then, “Perhaps you wouldn’t be so nervous now if I’d done more.”

Draco’s throat felt tight and his eyes burned a little with tears, he felt like his emotions were much quicker at the surface than they’d ever been before, and right now hearing how much Narcissa cared for him made him feel like he was flying apart. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, a gesture Lucius had tried to train him out of as a boy. Then his mother was at his side, smelling faintly of cloves despite banishing the cigarette smell, her arms wrapping around his back.

“Oh, my little dragon,” she said, her voice breaking as she cradled him. “We’re going to help you.”

Draco could only nod and let himself be enveloped by her comforting embrace.

“I just firecalled Kingsworth about Severus’s will. Apparently, it cannot be found at present so his things will be held until such a time they are found.”

His mind took a moment to connect why she was telling him this--Severus’s journals, of course. “Held where?” he asked, his voice muffled in the folds of her robes.

“Hogwarts. Headmistress Mcgonagall has agreed to keep his things safe, apparently in the absence of a will, a former headmaster’s effects go to the school.”

“Oh,” Draco said, feeling even more deflated. He doubted Mcgonagall would let them borrow Severus’s potions journals, not after what Draco had done to help destroy the school.

“Yes, well,” Narcissa trailed off, “I’ll be firecalling her in the morning. For now Kingsworth is looking into healers that will treat you right.” She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled back so she could look him in the eye, her own blue eyes watery and concerned. “I think we should stay in the house in London for a while, this place can’t be good for you now.”

Draco felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest, he had not thought of not staying in the manor. It had always been home, but now home was twisted and wrong, stained with darkness he wasn’t sure they could ever be free from. The idea of not having to stay here, of not having to feel slowly suffocated by the imposing walls, it made him feel like he was on his broom, just about to close his hands around the snitch. “Yes, let’s go there,” he said, his relief at the idea clear in his voice and Narcissa briefly squeezed his shoulders tighter in response.

“All right, we can get the elves to pack our stuff up and bring it, there’s no reason to stay here tonight then.”

Draco startled, “You want to leave right now?”

Narcissa reached up to cup his face with her hands, “I want what is best for my son.” She searched his eyes for a moment before giving him a giddy grin and kissing him on the forehead. Then she stood and called for Lark, the house elf appeared immediately. “Lark, I want you to get the others and pack up our living things. Bring them to us at Grearthon Gate.”

“Right away, mistress!” Lark said eagerly and disappeared once more.

A smile pulled at Narcissa’s lips as she looked at the space the elf had just occupied, then she turned back to look at Draco. “Shall we go?” she asked, and held out a hand to her son.

Draco took in the sight of his mother, her cheeks a little flushed with energy, eye bright and alive, and was taken by how much stronger she was than he’d ever thought. He stood and took her hand saying, “Okay.”

Narcissa squeezed his hand and pulled him with her toward the fireplace where she threw in a handful of floo powder and said, “Grearthon Gate!” before stepping into the green flames and pulling Draco in after her. 


	3. Chapter 3

Grearthon Gate was situated in one of the wizarding districts in London, and stood tall between the other houses that surrounded it. In this part of town the houses had been designed to outwardly all look similar, so standing on Grear Avenue it looked like a row of tall narrow white houses with thick columns next to each doorway. Upon closer inspection though, one could see the subtle differences in each house from slightly different windows to the way that every door was very different. The Malfoy’s property, Grearthon Gate, had a large black door inlaid with an intricate silver design, that because of charming would shift throughout the day.

Draco and Narcissa did not see any of this when they came in through the floo. Since they hardly used the property, and had arrived on such short notice, it was still closed up from the last time they had stayed out here. Draco thought back, trying to remember when that was, and had a vague recollection of coming out here when he was much younger. There were many people here at the time, but other than that he couldn’t remember.

The inside of the house was very different in comparison to the manor. Where the shadows in the manor were menacing now, the shadows here just spoke of age and lack of use. Where much of the furnishings in the manor were elegant, old, and passed down through the generations; the way the gate was furnished was much more spacious with more modern pieces that spoke to a forward thinking mind rather than one stuck in tradition. Having only been to this house once before in his memory, Draco wondered now who furnished it, and why they did not spend more time here.

As he walked further into the house, out of the entry floo, he asked Narcissa, “Why haven’t we come back here before?”

Narcissa had started waving her wand around to get the sheets off the furniture and air out the place by opening the windows. She gave him a sidelong look as she kept working saying, “Well, when you were born we decided to raise you at the manor, where you would grow up knowing the importance of your family line. There just never seemed to be enough time to do everything, and I felt it important that you had a place you--” she stopped for a minute and started out the open window for a beat before continuing in a ruined tone, “Well, a place you felt safe.” she said, and turned to give Draco a look that was so heartbroken he took a step back in surprise. “I failed you, Draco. I should have stood up to Lucius, or at the very least taken you away from that house when I saw what was happening to us. But instead,” she clasped her hands together and let out a hard sigh, “Instead, I was too afraid.”

Draco walked over to her then and grabbed her wrist, “Mum, no, it’s okay.” he said, his voice quiet in the dusty room.

Narcissa turned fully toward him, her expression gentling as she looked at her son’s face, “It’s not, it’s really not.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, it was getting long and she felt a surge of fondness at the way it gentled his severe features. After a few moments she sighed and stepped back saying, “It’s getting late, I need to go to bed if I want to be up to firecall Headmistress McGonagall tomorrow morning. Will you be all right for the night, pet?”

“Yes, I’ll be okay.” Draco said with a nod. He had noticed how Narcissa’s eyes looked a little bruised with lack of sleep, and he had realized that it was likely that while he had slept for however long, she had yet to sleep since getting released. “You go on up to bed, I’ll make sure the elves reopen the Gate.” he said and the grasped her hand tightly. “Thank you, mother.”

Narcissa’s hand tightened in his and she gave him a tired smile, “Of course, Draco.” Then she released his hand and started to leave the room, “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said before she exited, leaving Draco alone in the room.

Draco pulled in a deep breath, taking in the slightly stale air of the house, and then decided to take a tour. He could hardly remember the place anyway, it was like exploring a whole new house. The room that he was in seemed like a sitting room, with all the chairs and couches that Narcissa had uncovered. He walked over to the windows that she had spelled open earlier, they were letting in a small breeze that rustled up the old dust. Later, he would get the house elves to do a thorough cleaning of the whole place. Right now he just wanted to look out the window to see where they were.

Out the window he could see was a sprawling park that the house backed up onto, he wondered briefly which park it was, and figured he could ask his mother later. Or, if he felt up to it tomorrow he could go exploring. He breathed in the heady scent of the flowering trees that were in full bloom at this time in the summer and couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his lips due to how peaceful he felt right then. Taking in another breath of the cloying scent, Draco turned away from the window to peruse the rest of the house.

The sitting room was right off of the entry room that held both the main floo and the front door. Draco opened the door and poked his head out, taking a look at the houses that stretched on either side of him that looked very nearly exactly the same. There was a flash in the corner of his eye that had him taking in the way their front door was decorated. Draco wore a small bemused smile as he closed the door and continued looking around the rest of the house--decorative doors like that seemed incongruous with what he’d grown up knowing about being a Malfoy. It was a little too flighty and fun for him to see his father giving it his approval.

On one side of the entry room was the sitting room he had just exited, directly in front of the front door was a large lavish staircase with white marble stairs and a gleaming black metal railing that was designed with vines and flowers that were in full bloom right now. To the side of the staircase was a door that was currently closed, and then on the side opposite of the sitting room was another room that Draco went into now. Cloth still covered all the furniture in this room, but from what Draco could see it looked like a drawing room, he could make out what looked like a desk situated facing one of the front windows, and there appeared to only be a few chairs covered. There was an armillary sphere to one side of the room that was spinning in lazy circles in time with the rotation of the earth and had a moon orbiting around it. Shelves were inset into the walls and were currently covered by sheets, Draco took a peek behind one and was startled to see the shelves full of bottles.

He stepped back and continued into the adjoining room and found himself in a large, lavish dining room. Here, like everywhere, the furniture was still covered, but the table was long and large like the one in the formal dining room at the manor. He could make out large feet of the table sticking out under the covering, and saw that they were sculpted to look like snakes baring their fangs. Draco shuddered and their menacing look and looked up instead, and he found himself staring at a mural painted on the ceiling. It was of a cluster of thestrals flying through the night sky, surrounded by a wisdom of owls. Draco blinked and wondered idly if the thestrals in the painting could only be seen by those who had seen death, like their living counterparts. He pursed his lips as he watched them fly across the ceiling thinking it was rather macabre for a dining room before he left for the next room. It turned out to be a narrow hall that connected the other side of the house, and when he looked up it there was a closed door that he guessed was the one he saw from the entryway.

On the other side of the hall he found a study with a large imposing desk seated in the centre of the room, covered under a white sheet, and more shelves inlaid in the walls. There were metallic instruments hovering in the room that spun and shuddered when he opened the window to let the air in. Draco studied them for a bit, trying to figure out what they were for, but when he couldn’t do it by sight alone he decided that would be something to investigate another time.

In the back of the house was the kitchen, large and cold from disuse. Draco peeked into the backyard and was unsurprised to see it expanded with wizard space, giving them a sprawling lawn the bled into the park behind. He returned inside and started for the first floor.

Up the stairs immediately on the right was an enormous library. Draco was used to the large one at the manor, and even the one at Hogwarts, but this one surpassed both of those. He knew it was expanded with wizard space when he could not even see the far part of the room due to all the shelves. Books were stacked at least two stories high and rearranging themselves as he watched. Draco, who had grown up with magic, felt himself a little in awe at the collection before him.

He backed out of the room slowly and went to continue his tour, knowing he’d be back to get lost in the shelves later. Draco could feel himself itching to start looking through the books.

Across the hall was a room brightly lit by all the windows, it held a grand piano and Draco could see a cello case sitting on its side in the corner, there were dark oak doors that were currently closed that it sat in front of. When he went over to open them he discovered it was a closet full of instruments. A music room then.

The rest of the first floor held a ballroom, another drawing room, and three washrooms. On the second floor he found most of the bedrooms, and the one his mother had claimed for herself. On the top floor there were only two bedrooms and a washroom. The west facing bedroom, the one that overlooked the backyard and the park behind, was the one he ended up deciding on. It had windows all along the western wall and an enchanted ceiling showing the day outside, which now was black with stars as it was rather late at night.

Draco wasn’t very tired so he went out onto the balcony to get some fresh air while he sat at the small table there and lost himself in thought.

He hope that McGonagall would allow them to use Severus’s journals, not because he thought there would be a potion in there that would cure him, Draco had a feeling it would take a bit more than that before he felt like himself again. No, Draco wanted to get his hands on his mentor’s journals purely for the selfish reason of learning all the secrets that Severus had kept to himself about his various brewing experiments. Draco was eager to try inventing his own potions, as Severus had before him.

There was also the matter of the court ordered volunteering. Draco did not know of any organizations he could work with at present, the ones he knew of already were not likely to accept his help. He would have to do some searching to find somewhere he could work with. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to either, he knew that just a few years ago he would have scoffed heavily at the idea of a Malfoy deigning to volunteer anywhere.

But after seeing the deaths and torturing in his own home, after seeing the destruction of his school--Draco didn’t feel like he was above getting things back on track to running again.

He sat up suddenly when a thought occurred to him. He could see if McGonagall needed help getting Hogwarts back in shape to accept students again.

A large part of him balked at the idea, even as he decided to try, the part that kept the fire burning in the back of his mind and threatened to let it take over again if he should step foot on the Hogwarts grounds again. Draco knew it was what he should do though. It was because of him the Death Eaters were able to break into the school in sixth year, and he owed it to the school, at the very least, to bring it back into shape.

His hands were shaking a bit when he stood up, and the fire was edging in on him, but Draco just swallowed hard, thought of how Potter had saved him, and decided he’d see about talking to McGonagall when his mother firecalled in the morning.

And then he’d see about getting a new wand.

The next morning, after an overwhelming display of food for breakfast which Draco took as the house elves being a bit excited two of their masters were home now, he joined his mother in the upstairs drawing room to firecall McGonagall.

“I’ll talk to her first, okay Draco?” Narcissa asked as she kneeled down on the plush cushion in front of the hearth--this floo was only for making firecalls.

“Okay,” Draco said and sat down in one of the low chairs behind her.

Narcissa nodded absently and picked up a pinch of floo powder and called McGonagall in the Headmistress’s office at Hogwarts. Since she was the one with her head in the fire, Draco could not hear any of her conversation. After a while, Draco still couldn’t gauge time without his wand to cast a tempus, she pulled her head out of the fire looking flushed and pleased.

“Minerva would like to talk to you Draco,” she said and moved away from the hearth.

“Thank you,” Draco said and took her place on the cushion and thrust his head into the flames with a rough swallow. He found himself looking out into the Headmistress’s office, McGonagall herself was seated in a low chair by the fire and she gave him a tight smile when his head appeared.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” she said with a small nod.

“Headmistress,” Draco said in return, “I hope the repairs on Hogwarts are running smoothly?” he asked, faltering and feeling a little foolish for thinking he could just out and ask her if he could help. Why would she ever accept his help in the first place.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” McGonagall said and reached over to the table at her side to pick up a teacup. “You mother requested I send over Severus’s potions journals, and while I have agreed, we have no use of them at present with the castle unfit for classes this fall, I am a bit hesitant to let them leave the grounds.” she studied him carefully while she sipped her tea.

“Perhaps we can work something out then, Headmistress,” Draco said and swallowed down the lurch of fear that wanted to overcome him at the thought of spending time on the school grounds again. McGonagall inclined her head in a distinct gesture for him to continue. “I want to--” he swallowed hard again, “If you need help with getting the school back in shape, I would like to offer my assistance.” he said at last, and looked anywhere in the room but at Mcgonagall.

Because he wasn’t looking, he missed the way that McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, or how her face softened into an understanding expression before she pulled herself together. “You would like to help with the repairs?” she asked, just to be clear.

Draco finally looked at her, feeling like he’d been stripped naked at the look she was giving him. “Yes,” he said after a moment.

“Splendid, when would you like to start?” She asked, sitting forward in her chair and giving Draco an eager look. Eager for McGonagall, at least.

He suddenly felt very awkward, he wasn’t sure going to the castle to help repairs before he saw a healer would be wise, but he also didn’t know when he would be able to see a healer. “I’m not sure,” he said after a bit.

Mcgonagall nodded at this though, as though she understood why. Draco just pressed his lips tightly together. “You mother mentioned that she wanted to see if there were any potions Severus had come up with to help with an anxious mind,” she said, her tone gentle. Draco couldn’t look at her again. “Mr. Malfoy, the war has left scars on all of us, and I do thank you for wanting to help bring Hogwarts back to her former glory--but I must insist you take care of yourself first.” Draco swallowed against a wave of emotion that nearly had him in tears at her words, it would not do to cry now. McGonagall was silent as well for a couple of moments before she said, “You know, I was very touched when I saw Mr. Potter stand up for you at your trial.” At this Draco threw her a sharp look, which she returned with a look that said _of course I was there_. “I believe we can expect great things from the two of you in the years coming.” Then she nodded to herself and didn’t say anything more.

Draco was giving her an odd look and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” he said after a bit, unsure of what else to say.

McGonagall nodded again, “I expect to hear from you in three week’s time about how your recovery is going, then we can decide if your help will be needed here.”

“Oh--yes, all right.” Draco said after regaining his bearings.

“Now, it was lovely speaking with you and your mother Mr. Malfoy, and I am glad to see you both free, but I have much to attend to.” She said and they closed the call.

Draco sat back on his heels on the cushion in front of the hearth feeling rather bemused. He shook his head at himself with a small smile. After a moment Narcissa walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder and Draco looked up at his mother, she was giving him an apprehensive look and he couldn’t blame her. “It seems, mum, I have misjudged a great many people.” he said after a few moments.

Narcissa’s hand squeezed his shoulder and released him. “Yes, I misjudged them right along with you.” Draco stood to face her fully and she asked, “What did the Headmistress say?”

He was curious as to what McGonagall had told Narcissa to have her looking so pleased earlier, but he knew he’d find out soon enough, so he answered with, “She said she didn’t want to let Severus’s journals off the school grounds.” When Narcissa nodded for him to continue he knew that McGonagall had told her this as well. “She also said she would welcome my assistance in putting Hogwarts back together, but that I need to take care of myself first.”

“Good,” Narcissa said with a smile. “She gave me a few names to follow up with for healers, so I’ll send off some owls this afternoon.”

Draco blinked and felt a rush of warmth suffuse his chest, “Thank you,” he said.

“I was thinking we could head over to Quentin Square, Minerva assured me that while a Ms. Kazmi has not been making wands as long as the Ollivanders, that she has a strong grasp on wand crafting. She studied at the Khuzestan Institute of Wizardry, and apparently knows how to make wands very differently than the ones we are accustomed to.” Narcissa said and seemed coiled to get up and go at Draco’s word.

“I think I’ll be fine to go,” he said. Quentin Square was a hidden wizarding shopping block, similar to Diagon Alley, only with a much more discerning clientele. “What kinds of wands does she make then?” he asked and fell into step with Narcissa when she turned to walk out toward the floo they could use to travel through.

“Minerva did not mention what makes them different,” she shot Draco a sly look then, “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know herself and is just going by word of mouth. Either way, it should prove to be an interesting morning, I think.” She said with another smile and when they reached the floo, she threw some powder in and called out “The Shimmering Snidget!” before walking into the flaring flames.

They arrived in the welcoming floo of the quaint tea room, there were a few witches having morning tea at some of the round tables. Overhead a few false snidgets flew around, their gold glittering matching with the rest of the tea room’s golden decor. A young woman with vibrant pink hair waved at Narcissa from behind the counter where there were jars of tea that she was busy blending to create new flavors. Narcissa waved back exuberantly and then steered Draco out of the store.

“Who was that?” he asked as they walked along Quentin Square. He’d never seen that witch in the store before.

“Oh Draco, that’s Mariana Beasley, her mother was in my year at Hogwarts.” Narcissa waved away the question with a flippant hand and glided down the street to a shop that was nestled cosily between a highly decked out home furnishing store and a rare book store. An understated sign made out of swirling glass proclaiming, “Wands by Kazmi” floated above the door that also seemed to be made of glass. “Well this is pretty,” Narcissa said and opened the door to the shop.

Inside it was brightly lit with sunlight filtering in from high above and coming through in rainbow as it shone through the colored glass sculptures of glass that were floating around in the air. Draco saw a glass bird flutter by, the detail in its wings halted his breath. “Wow,” he found himself saying.

There was a gentle tinkling of a glass fluted windchime to herald the arrival of a witch with a golden scarf that she wore covering her hair, she had on a dark red dress that was embellished with golden beadwork. Her dark eyes alighted first on Narcissa and then landed on Draco and she gave him a long look, he was arrested for a moment by the look in her brown eyes. They were sharp and knowing, but held a deep calmness that Draco wished he could emulate. “Hello,” she said with a slight nod of her head.

“Hello,” Draco said taking a step forward, “I am Draco Malfoy, and this is my mother Narcissa, we have heard about your wand making.” he said, gesturing to his mother, who stepped forward as well.

“Good afternoon, I am Shadi Kazmi, welcome to my shop.” She said and opened her arms wide to gesture to the whole shop they were in, at her movement the light filtering through the glass sharpened to illuminate the shelves behind her that Draco had not noticed. Now that he had, he saw that they were filled with glimmering boxes. Kazmi noticed the awe in his eyes and wore a pleased smile, “You are the one looking for a wand, yes?” she asked, her eyes sharp on his hands.

Draco nodded, and when she gestured for him to come closer he did, and put his hands on the countertop between them. “Yes, my old wand--” he trailed off and looked away from her and the spectacle of light before him. He swallowed down the memories that threatened to overtaken him and straightened his spine before looking at her again. “Well, I don’t have it anymore, and I doubt it would work well for me now.”

His words stopped when Kazmi took his hands in hers and began to examine them closely. It reminded him at first of what he had heard of that ridiculous woman Trelawny’s classes, but the way the Kazmi was carefully weighing his hands in hers and inspecting them felt a little too intimate and personal for drawing conclusions of his future from.

After a number of silent moments, Kazmi started to speak while still looking at his hands. “You have been through much recently, like many of the youth here. And you have gone through and are still experiencing great changes. I can see the shifting in your magical core even from here.” She looked up at him then, her dark eyes assessing, and he noticed now that there were flecks of golden orange in her irises. “No, your old wand will not serve you well now. Let me see what I have.”

She raised a hand and a box came flying into it that she caught deftly and without looking. When she opened the box, nestled against a bedding of silk was a wand unlike any Draco had ever seen before. Instead of wood it was made of intricately blown glass, he could see elements of perhaps a feather, and some leaves, maybe, preserved in the core of the wand. Kazmi gestured with the box, presenting it toward him. When he wrapped his fingers around it, it seemed to light up from the inside. Small beads of light appeared, glowing in a muted yellow hue. Draco blinked in amazement, he’d never seen a wand like this and it was rather breathtaking, the beauty of it.

Kazmi made a sound in the back of her throat when she saw the color it had taken, and then she urged with her hands again saying, “Go on, try it out."

So he did. He gave it an experimental swish and felt something deep within him, his magical core most likely, chime lightly. Then he said, “ _Lumos_ ” and the tip lit up nice and bright, the wand itself taking on a deep purple tone. Draco looked up and gave his mother a delighted smile, and she returned it in kind. He could tell she was just as charmed by this glass wand as he was.

Kazmi however, did not seem to share in their delight. She clucked her tongue and wiggled her fingers to get Draco to hand the wand back to her. “No,” she said, “This is not the right one for you.” She shook her head, and when he handed the wand back she quickly returned it to its box. When it was safely back inside the box zoomed back onto the shelves. Another was soon in her hand again.

This time, when the wand was revealed inside it had something dark red inlaid within and flecks of what looked slightly like shining scales. This wand was blown into a braided looking pattern, twisting around itself. Draco picked it up and it glowed a soft blue, he felt the same thing deep within himself let out a small trill, but before he even tried the wand out Kazmi was gesturing for him to hand it back to her.

She boxed it back up quickly and sent it zooming away. This time another box did not immediately fly into her hand, instead she gave Draco another long searching look. “It seems you are undergoing many changes, young man,” she said after a moment. Then her eyes seemed to flicker and she smiled suddenly. “Ah, I think I know which will be best for you,” she said and flicked her hand again, and another box was quickly in her grasp.

When she revealed this wand Draco could feel his fingers itching to hold it. Nestled in the dark silk was a wand that was made of glass blown to look like strands of glass woven together. Inside were golden flecked scales and a bright blue leaf. When he wrapped his hand around this wand it glowed a with a bright white light, and the thing that had trilled deep within him before felt like it was singing now. He did a _lumos_ and the wand glowed at the tip, and the whole thing itself was glowing with lines of moving light, like veins within the glass.

Kazmi clapped her hands once together in delight, “Yes, that is the wand for you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, it is delightful Draco. Ms. Kazmi, you make the most wondrous wands I’ve ever seen,” Narcissa gushed, coming closer to look at the wand better. “I’ve never seen glass used for wands before, how novel.”

“Glass is what we make all our wands from in Khuzestan,” Kazmi explained, and seemed to preen under the praise. “Glass is much more malleable than wood, we can blow it with magic properties imbibed in the glass itself in addition to the core. They bond much better to a witch’s magic.” she said, and nodded to the way the wand was now just lightly glowing in Draco’s hand.

“It’s marvelous. It must be hard to master,” Draco mused, inspecting the small intricate details in the glasswork of the wand. “You are an artist, Ms. Kazmi.”

At this she smiled brightly, “Thank you,” she said with a dip of her head. She looked at Narcissa now, “Are you looking to replace your wand?” she asked, looking at Narcissa’s hands with keen eyes.

She let out a soft little merry laugh, and waved the query away gently saying, “No, not at this time. But you can be assured I will be back.” They paid Kazmi for the wand and thanked her for her beautiful work, then they quietly left the bright store.

Quentin Square seemed a little dimmer after the light in the shop, despite the sunny summer day they were having. Draco walked with his mother as she stopped into a few more shops for light shopping, trying out his new wand with small charms and spells all the while. He was constantly delighted by the way it reacted to him, and now that he had been handling it for a bit he could see that it would always glow in his hands from the light that thrummed through it like veins of magic. Draco was pretty sure the light was his magic, bonding with and traveling through the wand in a way he’d never seen before.

They were heading over to Dominique’s, a cafe that served the only croissants Narcissa went out of her way to get her hands on, for lunch. They always tended to stop there for lunch when they were at Quentin Square, so Draco was hardly paying much attention to the people on the street as they walked. Immersed in his new wand as he was, he didn’t notice his mother stopping until he bumped into her. His apology was swallowed by her surprised exclamation.

“Oh! Mr. Potter, what a lovely surprise running into you here,” Narcissa said, and Draco blinked and looked up only now noticing that Potter was standing right in front of them. He looked less foreboding than he had at their trials, instead he wore light blue robes that he had open like he’d thrown them on over his muggle clothes at the last minute.

Potter looked a little thrown for a moment, seeing them, and then he gave Narcissa a grin and nodded at Draco. “Mrs. Malfoy, Malfoy, it’s good to see you,” he said and shifted on his feet as he looked at them.

Narcissa stepped forward and slipped her arm through his saying, “You must join us for lunch, we were just about to go to Dominique’s and I am certain you will love their croissants.”

Draco smiled a little at the way Potter looked overwhelmed by his mother before he quickly recovered and fell into step with her. “I--I’d like that, thank you,” Potter said, and then shot a wary glance over at Draco.

Draco just shrugged at him and followed them as his mother steered Potter down the street. He had a strong feeling his mother had set all of this up, he found it highly suspicious otherwise that Potter would just happen to be alone wandering one of the more posh wizarding shopping districts--especially since he couldn’t think of how else Potter would even know of Quentin Square. Whatever his mother was planning, it was certainly going to be interesting. Draco twirled his new wand in his fingers and readied himself for what was looking to be a very odd day indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

They entered a squat round building that stood on one of the corners of the square. The mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out into the street, beckoning them inside. Draco noticed the way Potter closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent and smirked a little, he too was charmed by the cafe. Narcissa walked straight into the quaint looking place that was filled with customers with the comfort of one who has not only been there many times, but knows everyone who works in the building. There was a plump wizard with receding brown hair who waved eagerly at her and she smiled and waved back.

“That is Dominique, Harry,” she said and steered him over to introduce them. Dominique’s bushy brows shot up to his lacking hairline when he saw the saviour of the wizarding world in his shop. Potter leaned a bit away from the older man when he saw the reaction, but a quelling look from Narcissa halted any other outbursts that may have bubbled forth. “Dominique, may we make use of one of your private rooms?” she asked with a winning smile, and added, “Poor Harry here hasn’t had any breakfast yet and I just had to bring him here, I knew you’d be the best person to help him out.”

Dominique nodded and a wide grin spread across his large face, “Yes, of course, the yellow one is currently unoccupied. I’ll have Francesca bring out your favorites when they are ready.” He leaned over the counter and lowered his voice, taking them into confidence when he said, “I’m trying out a few new recipes and I would love to hear what you think of them, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“We’d be delighted to try them out,” Narcissa smiled again and then led the way to the back of the cafe. She slipped behind a wall that did not appear to have a door, and Potter’s feet fumbled as he followed before Draco came through, bringing up the rear.

Once he stepped through the wall the chatter of the main seating area disappeared, instead the yellow room they were in now had a wide table and large plush chairs and was quiet except for the sounds coming in through the open window on the wall opposite than the one they came through. Narcissa perched herself on one of the chairs close to the window and encouraged Potter to sit near her, leaving Draco to take the seat next to Potter and across from his mother.

“I hope the private room is all right, Harry,” she was saying as she arranged her skirts to a comfortable seating position. “I thought you would prefer it to sitting out in the open where anyone could bother your meal.”

Potter was fussing with his robe and looking up sharply at that, wearing a curiously guarded expression when he said, “Thank you.” He tugged at his robe from where he was sitting on it and then his expression morphed again, now he was wearing a much more friendly smile, “I do appreciate it, it’s hard to even walk down Diagon Alley right now.”

Narcissa patted his hand sympathetically, “I can only imagine, you’ve had quite a burden to bear on your young shoulders, and it seems the press are keen on only adding to it now.”

“I guess. I do wish they’d stop with all the articles though, yeah. I’m not anything special, I just did what I had to do.” Potter shrugged and deftly took his hand back from Narcissa.

Whatever response she was about to give was cut off by the arrival of a tall willowy woman who had a number of trays floating behind her. “Mrs. Malfoy, it is always a pleasure to have you here.” She said with a slight bow of her head and directed the trays onto the table. She was giving Potter a curious and eager look, but held herself together from fawning over him, as Draco could just picture her doing.

“Thank you Francesca, you are looking very well.” Narcissa said with a patient smile on her face. After further pleasantries were traded, Francesca bowed back out of the room, leaving the three of them in a deliciously scented silence.

Potter started to reach for one of the puff pastries, then his hand hesitated when he shot an uneasy look at his company. Draco raised his eyebrow and picked up one of the fluffy croissants and put it on the small plate in front of him, and was privately amused when Potter took that as permission to serve himself, it seemed that Potter had learned some table manners somewhere. He did not miss the way Potter slightly guarded his food, or the way he was eyeing Draco and his mother a little warily. Draco wondered just how much of Potter’s relaxed and accepting attitude was a facade he’d put on, for whatever reason. It was curious for him, he had never thought of Potter to be very diplomatic, but his actions recently certainly spoke otherwise.

Draco took a thoughtful bite of the flaky pastry and when his mouth was clear he spoke, keeping his tone and inflection carefully neutral, “So what brings you to Quentin Square, Potter?”

Potter had just taken a bite of his puff pastry and made a startled sound when the custard inside burst forth in his mouth. He shot Draco a glance somewhere between panicked and apologetic, but thankfully finished chewing his food before he opened his mouth to speak. “Well, since it’s a zoo trying to get through Diagon Alley, and Ollivander’s shop is closed anyway, McGonagall recommended I try finding a new wand at a shop here.” he rose a shoulder in a small shrug and then froze, his eyes going wide, “Oh! I still have your wand Malfoy!” He then started patting his robes a little frantically.

Draco felt something clench violently in his stomach at the thought of holding that wand again and held up a hand to stall Potter’s search. “It’s okay, I don’t need it,” he said and then produced his new wand from the wrist holster they had purchased to fit it earlier.

Potter apparently found the pocket he’d put it in, as Draco saw him pull it out a little before he looked up at Draco, his mouth gaping open at his words, and then even more when he took in the unusual wand Draco held. “Oh,” he breathed, the word coming out a little reverently as his eyes traced the glowing veins of magic that pulsed inside the wand. “Oh that’s gorgeous.” his hand raised in what looked like a completely subconscious gesture before he blinked and pulled it back. His focus shifted and he gave Draco a strange look that Draco could not interpret.

“I believe that Headmistress McGonagall may have referred us both to the same wandmaker,” Draco said after a moment, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Potter’s green stare. It was both heavier than he’d ever experienced it, but also lighter as it was without the burning hatred he was accustomed to.

“Merlin,” Potter breathed, “Now that’s a magic wand.” he said, and Draco saw his fingers twitch against her he’d rested his hands on his robes, as though he was fighting to control the urge to touch Draco’s wand.

“Yes,” Narcissa broke in after a moment, giving Potter a calculating look that quickly fell off her features when she felt her son’s eyes upon her. “Ms. Kazmi is a true artist of her craft.”

“I can see,” Potter said, his tone still holding reverence in it, then he smiled, “Well, I’m much more excited about getting a new wand now.” he said with a laugh and then piled some more pastries on his plate.

Draco could see his mother was poised to ask something, but she held her tongue for a bit and they ate the delectable treats in silence for a bit. Then, it seemed she could hold it in no longer and she asked, “I apologize for prying, but what do you plan to do now, Harry?”

The wary look immediately returned to Potter’s face, and he picked up his napkin to wipe at his mouth before he ventured to reply. “I’m not sure, Hermione keeps talking about the importance of sitting for NEWTs, but then the MLE said I could come join the aurors if I wanted.” he shrugged, “I don’t know yet so I’ve just been helping McGonagall with the repairs at Hogwarts, but she shooed me off the grounds saying she didn’t want to see me for a month and that I needed to take a break.”

“You should,” Narcissa said and then seemed to light up, “Oh, you should take some time to travel. Have you travelled much, Harry?” She asked, leaning toward him in her eagerness. Draco bit back a smile at his mother’s antics, she was after all a fan of trotting around the world. Mostly to France, but she did enjoy vacationing other places as well.

“Um, no,” Potter shifted in his chair, “No, not much at all.” He said and seemed to be a little embarrassed.

Narcissa’s keen gaze caught on immediately and she said, “This is the perfect time to start then. I can get in touch with our elves at the chateau we have in the Parisian countryside and have them set up a room for you, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, I really couldn’t,” Potter said shaking his head and raising his hands a little like he could ward off Narcissa’s fervent suggestions. “That’s far too much.”

“Definitely not, I must insist, there’s nothing quite so relaxing as the countryside in the summertime. And you, of all people, deserve some time to relax.” she folded her hands primly in her lap then, and when Draco finally caught her eye he shot her a look that clearly asked _what are you planning?_ She only smiled at her son and returned her attention to Potter who was flushed slightly and shaking his head again, ready to deny Narcissa’s insistence again.

But then he sagged suddenly, like the air had gone right out of him. When he spoke, his chin was dropped to his chest making his words hard to decipher, made even worse by how quiet his words were, “somewhere quiet would be nice.”

A glint of triumph flashed in Narcissa’s eyes, and then she smiled at Potter, “I’m sure it would.” Her tone was far more gentle now, “I can make sure the elves give you all the quiet you desire.”

Potter nodded in a distracted fashion and started to play with his napkin idly. He seemed to be fighting with himself about accepting Narcissa’s offer, and didn’t look at either her or Draco for a long few minutes. During which time Draco wondered if Potter thought Narcissa had malicious intent in offering him a trip to their chateau. He couldn’t blame him if he did, Draco himself was still reeling over how they were sitting down for a relatively comfortable lunch together and how his mother and Potter were on first name basis now. He felt a little like he’d toed into an alternate reality and like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Could I--” Potter started to speak, and then stopped, looking up abruptly to hold Narcissa’s gaze. “Would it be okay if I invited a friend?” he asked, his fingers fidgeting in his robes.

“Certainly,” Narcissa said with a smile, “I assume you will want to bring Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley?”

Potter shook his head once, sharply. “No, Hermione is frazzled trying to get a year’s worth of missed studying in while researching how to build the Hogwarts wards back up again. And Ron--” He broke eye contact then, looking away and out the window, his gaze going shuttered and dark. “He’s spending a lot of time at the Burrow right now.” Potter said after a moment, his voice wooden.  

And just like that Draco remembered something he had seen in the aftermath of the battle, the Weasleys all gathered around a fallen body. Just another head of red in a sea of them. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d heard the news that one of the twins had been killed, but that on top of everything else just washed over him in an overwhelming wave. Now though, he could feel a keen sense of loss at the knowledge that one of the twins was gone. He’d begrudgingly respected them while they had pulled off pranks at Hogwarts, and their exit from the school was something else entirely. But it was seeing their success at running a joke shop, even in the heart of the darkness of the war that had Draco really respecting the Weasley twins. They proved that they were more than a pair of jokesters, it took a head for business to be successful in a time when people could hardly think of a reason to go out of the house to shop. Draco wondered what would happen to the shop now.

Potter was speaking again, and Draco came back to the present to hear, “No, I’d like to invite Dean Thomas, and Luna Lovegood to come with me. I think it would do them both good to get away from their families for a little bit to heal themselves.” Then Potter’s eyes were sharp and calculating as he looked between Narcissa and Draco before he said, “And I think it would be good for them to have kindness extended toward them from you.”

“Of course,” Draco said immediately, he knew exactly what Potter was referring to. Seeing his classmates locked up in the dungeons of his own home was one of the hardest things to face, Lovegood hadn’t even done anything and she was captured. He had tried to find a way to do something for them, but in the end he’d proven himself too cowardly to be of any use to anyone.

Draco swallowed hard and his hands trembled where they rested on his lap. If only he could have opened the wards a bit for them and gotten them out, or snuck them healing potions and made it more bearable. But no, he’d been too afraid of his father’s and the Dark Lord’s wrath if they found him sympathizing with the enemy. But they weren’t enemies, they were just students. They were people Draco knew and hadn’t had strong feelings for either way, but they certainly didn’t deserve being near starved and locked up in the cold, damp dungeon.

He felt himself get lost thinking about what he could have done, and the flames quickly flared up in his mind, consuming him. Draco was staring at a point on the table, and then he felt like his body had turned into jelly, and he couldn’t stop himself from slumping over in his chair. Potter was suddenly right in front of his face, his green eyes a strangely calming focal point that nearly stalled the rushing in Draco’s ears, but they weren’t enough. He could see Potter’s mouth moving, but he could not hear anything but the fire roaring away. He tried to say he couldn’t hear, but his tongue was like lead in his mouth. His vision shrunk to pinpricks and for a moment all he could see was Potter’s worried gaze before his sight blacked out completely. Draco screamed, but he wasn’t sure if he made a sound.

Hands were on him, he could feel them gripping his shoulders and moving his body. They were spots of strong heat that thawed the parts of him they touched, his body was trembling and Draco only noticed when the warm hands grabbed and stilled his trashing hands.

Hands. _Hands._ That was it. Draco felt a cool rush of relief when he thought of hands, of one hand. The hand that saved him. He forced himself to focus on that hand while he thought of only breathing in and out. He was safe. He had been saved already. There was no danger now.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

Another. And another. He thought of the hand grabbing him not just to save, but to comfort. He breathed. Pins and needles started tingling in his hands and feet.

Then it sounded like he had his head underwater and someone was trying to talk to him. But he could hear.

His breaths came a little easier.

_In and out. In and out._

The voices became clearer, they were calling for him. They were telling him to keep breathing. Draco already was doing that, so he continued. His vision swam and all he could see was a bright whiteness, and then shapes started to form out of blobs of undefined colors.

Draco breathed.

In a few blinks his vision cleared and he could see his mother and Potter hovering over him, twin expressions of worry marring their features. A laugh tried to wheeze out of his tired lungs at the sight, it was odd seeing them look so similar, almost as odd as seeing Potter worried over him in the first place. He blinked and only then realized his lashes were heavier from tears, Draco inwardly cringed. Wonderful. A public panic attack and he’d started crying. Just because he had often donned the cloak of shame in the last couple of years did not mean he wanted to get used to it

“Draco, Draco are you okay?” Narcissa asked, her voice tight with worry and her eyes wide and questioning. Draco felt the hands on his left arm tighten their hold.

He breathed out sharply when nodding his head brought upon a wave of nausea. “Yes,” he said with a rough voice and his throat worked as he tried to swallow down the nausea. When he leaned his head back to close his eyes against the overwhelming need to vomit he realized only then that there was a hand gently cradling the back of his head. Draco’s eyes snapped back open in shock and when he looked at Potter he was arrested by the deep concern in his eyes.

“You’re okay?” Potter asked, the warm weight of his hand on Draco’s arm squeezed him gently.

Draco gave him what he knew was a weak strained smile, but it was important to try anyway. “I will be,” he said, feeling quite lost. He broke the hold Potter’s eyes had on him to glance at his mother. “Tea?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll go get some.” Narcissa said and squeezed his arm again before she stood up and left the room.

Draco breathed out slowly through his nose and then started to sit up. The warmth of Potter’s hands disappeared but Draco could see him hovering with concern. When Draco got himself upright he leaned heavily against the side of the chair he’d been sitting in, he felt mortified that he’d had another attack, not only in public but in front of _Potter_ of all people, and on top of that he’d apparently collapsed out of his chair and onto the floor. He heaved a large sigh and scrubbed his face with his hand. With his hand covering his face he did not see Potter edge a little closer, but the head radiating off him like a furnace let Draco know immediately.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Potter asked, his voice soft.

Draco lowered his hand from his face and drew his legs up close to him, letting out a loud breath. “Yeah, eventually,” he said and finally looked at Potter again. He was kneeling next to Draco looking like he wanted to do something to help, but wasn’t sure what he could do.

Potter’s hands were reaching out still, and he flexed his fingers like he was trying to convince himself on what to do with them. “What happened Dr--Malfoy?” Potter asked, stumbling over his name, his cheeks darkened immediately.

Draco’s eyebrows  shot up in surprise, was Potter about to use his first name? He suddenly felt even more dizzy. Something was decidedly wrong, Draco must have fallen through into some sort of alternate universe where he and Potter didn’t have such a torrid history of hatred. He brought a hand up to rub at his eyes again, almost sure that he would wake up in bed, back in the cell in the ministry. When nothing changed Draco brought his hand back down, it trembled slightly now. “It was a panic attack,” he said at last, watching Potter’s face carefully.

“A panic attack?” Potter repeated, his dark brows furrowed. His gaze lost focus when he retreated in thought. After a moment he zeroed in on Draco again. “Why?”

A startled laugh exploded out of Draco’s chest and he looked at Potter incredulously, “Why? Why? Because my brain apparently thinks memories can cause damage to me.” He hugged his knees to his chest and shot Potter a barbed glance, he was feeling raw and exposed, and far too tired. “Why do you even care, Potter?” he asked, his tone sharp and, it put his teeth on edge to acknowledge it, but slightly hurt as well.

Potter’s expression closed quickly, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he shifted so he was sitting on the ground with Draco, facing him, and propped against one of the other chairs. He leaned his head back against the side of the chair and stared up at the ceiling, exposing the long column of his throat when he did. “Because you’re a person, Malfoy. One minute you were eating and fine, and the next you were falling out of your chair unresponsive. It was shocking, okay?”

Pursing his lips together Draco tried to organize his swimming thoughts. His gaze was stuck on the tanned skin of Potter’s throat where it disappeared into his shirt collar, he swallowed and tore his eyes away. “But why do you even give a shit about me? I mean, you _saved_ me Potter. Why?” Draco asked, feeling a stinging in his eyes and becoming furious with himself for it. His hands clenched where he gripped his knees as he tried to get control over himself.

“Because you didn’t, you _don’t_ , deserve to die.” Potter’s voice rang sure through the room, and he wore an honest, open expression on his face. He shifted and started to pick at a thread in his jeans, “You’ve always been a huge prat,” Potter shot his a little smirk then. “But, well, someone else I grew up hating and also thought was a huge prat too gave me an apology, and I realized that if he could mature enough to do that, well then it’d be kind of a waste to write you off altogether.” He pressed his lips together tightly, to the point they went white and was silent for a long moment, Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that so he stayed silent as well. Then Potter let out a long breath and started speaking again, not looking at Draco at all, “And after I learned what Dumbledore had done to make me into his perfect sacrifice well,” his expression was tight and he was frowning deeply now. Draco had always suspected there was something more sinister to the kindly old man act Dumbledore put on, but that Potter thought the old man would sacrifice his golden boy--it sent his mind reeling.

“I figured if I’m supposed to forgive him for that, forgiving you for getting manipulated into believing what you do--” Potter stopped and shot Draco a curious look, “Did?” he questioned and then shook his head. “Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.” he shrugged then, “I’m not really sure, I’m still working it out.” Potter gave Draco a small self-deprecating grin. “I do know that I’d rather work on building bridges instead of leaving them burnt, I don’t want to have another war like this one.” Potter shifted again, stretching to put his hand on Draco’s knee, making Draco suck in a startled breath. “I also know that I never apologized for what I did to you in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I didn’t know what the spell would do--but it doesn’t matter, it was stupid to use and you could have died. I’m really sorry, Draco, what I did to you was awful.”

Potter was looking at his with such an earnest repentant expression Draco felt his throat tighten painfully and the stinging in his eyes returned. Potter seemed determined to be kind to him, and at this rate Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive it. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he said with a shaky voice. “I was going to cast the cruciatus curse at you, for Merlin’s sake.” Draco angrily swiped the tears out of his eyes with a rough gesture and couldn’t look at Potter.

“Yeah, but you have to really mean that one for it to work,” Potter said with a crooked smile. “I don’t think you had it in you to want to cast it badly enough,” he squeezed Draco’s knee and then released it.

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He watched Potter carefully for a long moment, his lips tight between his teeth as he mulled what Potter said over. “You called me Draco,” was what ended up coming out.

Watching Potter’s reaction was quite amusing, first he gave a startled blink, his cheeks darkened again, and then he started tugging on his hair. “Yeah, I did,” he said, his boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Hmm,” Draco drummed his fingers against his knees and then abruptly straightened his legs out. “Is that going to be a habit?” he asked, shooting Potter a sly look. He still felt like he hadn’t found his feet after taking a portkey, like he had stumbled into the wrong universe, but Draco thought that maybe he could get used to a universe where Potter was concerned about him and gave him smiles like the one that instead of falling off his face, only grew.

“It might be,” Potter said with a laugh.

Draco nodded briefly in acceptance. “Okay, I suppose I have you call you Harry now, then don’t I?” he couldn’t help adding an exaggerated sigh, before shooting _Harry_ a small grin of his own.

Harry shrugged, “If you must.” Then he laughed again, and Draco joined in. It was like they’d both bit hit by a tickling jinx, they collapsed into uncontrollable laughter together so suddenly.

Narcissa stepped into the room while they were trying to catch their breath, she had a tray following her and her sharp eyes assessed them quickly. “I’m so sorry Draco, I got caught up talking to Dominique.” She said, but Draco could tell from the smile that lightly tugged at her lips that she was lying, he knew then that she had purposefully left them alone that long--and apparently was pleased with the results. “Here’s the tea,” she said and directed the tray to hover near Draco’s elbow.

He poured himself a cup of spicy ginger tea and squeezed in one of the prepared lemon wedges while carefully watching his mother, “Thank you,” he said before taking a sip.

“You look much better, how are you feeling?” Narcissa asked as she swooped down into a chair that she’d arranged to face the boys on the floor.

Draco lowered his teacup and just barely suppressed the urge to share a look with Harry before saying, “I am feeling much better, thank you mum.”

“Wonderful,” Narcissa smiled down at her son. “Are you feeling well enough to show Harry to Ms. Kazmi’s?”

Draco blinked and nearly dropped his teacup, he looked over to Harry to share his surprised look, but Harry was just smiling encouragingly at him. “I think so,” Draco said slowly. “Do you want me to?” he asked Harry.

“If you’re up for it, sure. I’m sure I’ll get lost finding it otherwise.” Harry’s grin twitched on his lips, and then he turned to Narcissa to ask, “You won’t be coming?”

Narcissa smiled beatifically at them and said, “No, I need to get some owls sent out as soon as possible.” She shared a long look with Draco then.

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly, looking away from her and down at his lap.

Narcissa stood and placed a hand on the crown of Draco’s head, “But of course. I really must be going now, please excuse me. Thank you for joining us for lunch, Harry.” She said with another smile at both of them and gave a small wave before she exited the private room.

Harry looked at the wall for a while after she’d gone through it, and then he smiled and turned to Draco. “You wanna go now?”

Instead of answering right away Draco took a long sip of his tea, the ginger and lemon helping to settle the nausea that seemed keen on returning. Once he had finished the cup he placed it on the tray and looked at Harry saying, “Okay.” He let out a small surprised noise when Harry shot to his feet in one fluid motion and then reached down to pull Draco to his as well.

Chuckling a little at Draco’s surprised face, Harry dropped his hands, “Sorry, I’m just excited.” His voice took on a slightly bashful tone and he looked out the window. “It’s just your new wand is so neat.”

Draco picked the glass wand up off the table where he’d dropped it during his panic attack and gave it a once-over to check for damage. “Yes,” he said once he was satisfied, “It’s really different.” Then he gave Harry a slight nod and they fell into step to leave the cafe together.

“Does it feel different than a wood wand?” Harry asked once they were out in the street.

“Yes,” The word came out immediately, and then Draco paused to think about why. It seemed to call to him in a way his wand never had before, and it felt _right_ in his hand. His previous one also felt right, though, this one seemed to connect to his magic in a way the old one never did. He thought back to the way something in him had _sung_ when he held the wand. “It connected with my magic better, I think,” Draco said at last, feeling like his words did not fully convey the depth of what it felt like.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed a bit, his steps bouncing slightly in his excitement. “That sounds nice. I’d like a wand that’s all mine.” His words held a fierce conviction to them that startled Draco.

Whatever this was between them, it felt far too fragile to Draco and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to pry into such a statement. He started to say, “What do you--”

But his words were swallowed up by someone down the street shouting, “Mr. Potter! That’s Harry Potter!” And then suddenly it was as though every witch and wizard in Quentin Square are heard the shouting and decided to crowd around to get a look for themselves.

“Bollocks,” Harry swore under his breath as he watched the crowd close in around them. He shot Draco an apologetic look and then grabbed his wrist, pulling him close and saying, “I’m sorry about this,” before he apparated them away.

Draco did not even have time to gain his bearings before he was stumbling in a dark kitchen, he caught himself on a counter to stop from losing his footing and turned to give Harry a startled look.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said, his hands out in a placating gesture, “I just can’t deal with that right now--and I didn’t want to just leave you there.”

Harry seemed to be sincere, so Draco turned his gaze to take in his surroundings instead. “Where are we?” he asked, figuring that, above all else, was the most important thing to know right now.

“Oh,” Harry suddenly seemed awkward, “Where I live, this is 12 Grimmauld Place.” 


	5. Chapter 5

“12 Grimmauld Place,” Draco repeated, the name niggled at something in his memory and he retreated into his mind for a moment trying to suss it out. There it was. He blinked his eyes open wide, “The old Black house?” he asked taking a look around the dingy kitchen for a sign he was right.

Harry only seemed even more awkward now, shuffling his feet and hooking his hands in his pants pockets. “Yeah,” he said after a bit, “I know it should probably have gone to your mom or something--” he trailed off and his face fell, “But my godfather willed it to me when he died.”

“Your godfather?” Draco repeated, annoyed he was repeating Harry so much.

“Yeah, Sirius Black was my godfather,” Harry said, a challenge in his eyes when he finally locked gazes with Draco.

Draco wasn’t really sure why, if it was willed to Harry the place was rightfully his no matter what. But aside from that, he had no desire to try to lay claim on the property, he had more than enough already to keep track of. “Oh,” he said after a moment, not sure what else to say. Then he took in the way Harry was holding himself much more taut than he had been a moment before. “I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m not going to try to take this place from you though, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He ventured, figuring it might just be best to be clear at this juncture.

It appeared to be the right approach as Harry immediately deflated back into a more relaxed posture, and his awkward fidgeting had ceased. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He perked up again quickly, “Anyway, I think if I grab my cloak we might be able to get to the wand shop without getting mobbed.” He started for the door to the kitchen, and, at a bit of a loss otherwise, Draco followed Harry deeper into the house.

“Why isn’t this place under the _fidelus_?” he asked once he was following Harry up the stairs. Something had been bugging him about how they were able to just pop in here, and once his thoughts had alighted on why he was shocked. It shouldn’t be so easy to get into Harry Potter’s house.

“It was,” Harry said shortly, lunging up the last few steps to the first floor before he disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. He came back out with a silver shimmering cloak over one arm and said, “It’s not anymore,” and shrugged as though it didn’t matter.

Draco eyed him warily, “You should put it under the fidelus again, you don’t want people mobbing you in your house, do you?”

“No,” Harry said slowly, “But the _fidelus_ needs a secret keeper, I’m looking to see if I can find something else.”

This surprised Draco, he was sure that Harry would have no trouble finding one of his loyal friends to be his secret keeper. “What, was the responsibility too much for Weasley and Granger?” he asked, his tone purposefully flippant.

Harry shrugged and, “Yeah, I didn’t want anyone to have to bear that kind of burden for me.” That stopped Draco up short, putting it that way meant something very different than what he had implied. “Anyway, I’ll figure something else out,” Harry then wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and disappeared. “How about we go see if I can get a new wand?” Harry’s voice came from where he had just been, and then Draco felt a hand gripping his arm.

“All right,” he said, feeling slightly out of place. “Can I apparate us out of here?” Suddenly his whole side was heated when Harry stepped close.

“I dunno, can you?” Harry asked, his voice filled with mocking challenge.

Draco barked out a surprised laugh, dropped his new wand from the wrist holster and apparated them onto the street in Quentin Square outside of Kazmi’s shop. Harry stumbled into him once they landed and Draco reached out a hand to steady his invisible companion.

“It seems you can,” Harry’s voice was gruff when he spoke.

Draco just raised an eyebrow at the air next to him and started for Kazmi’s door for the second time that day. He opened the door and made sure there was room for Harry to slip inside before he shut it carefully behind him. Kazmi was leaning against the countertop scratching the chin of a dark gray cat, she looked up at the sound of the door closing and her sharp brown eyes snapped to Draco’s face.

“Mr. Malfoy, I did not expect to see you so soon.” She said, her voice curious, but she did not get up from her repose against the counter.

“I didn’t expect to be here so soon either, but it seems I know someone else who needs a wand.” Draco said and wondered where Harry had gotten to. Harry took the hood off his cloak and revealed that he was a bit closer to the counter than Draco, “This is Harry Potter,” Draco said, inclining his head toward Harry.

“Ah,” Kazmi nodded knowingly, “I thought your magic felt odd.” She said to Draco and then her gaze fell upon Harry, “I am Shadi Kazmi. You need a new wand then, man who has cheated death twice?” she asked, giving an odd spin to the _Boy-Who-Lived-Twice_ title the Prophet kept running in reference to Harry.

“Hello,” Harry nodded with a grin at her, “Yeah. I really love Draco’s wand. It’s like a proper magic wand, like what I’d think of as a kid.” Harry said and took the cloak off completely, putting it over one arm as he stepped forward to pet Kazmi’s cat. “She’s very sweet,” Harry said after a moment.

Kazmi was watching him carefully, and Draco saw a small smile pull at her lips. “Yes, she is,” she said. She gave her cat a fond look before returning her attention to Harry. “”Are you, like Mr. Malfoy was, currently without a wand now?” she asked.

Harry stopped petting the cat to look a little sheepish, “Um, no. Actually, I’m the reason he didn’t have one--see, mine broke and then I kind of well, I stole it.” Harry gave an uncomfortable laugh and started digging in his robes for Draco’s wand.

“He won it from me,” Draco said, stepping in closer to them. He thought it was important for Kazmi to know the difference.

Kazmi nodded and waited for Harry to pull out Draco’s old wand. He presented it to her and she picked it up gingerly. “And how was using his wand? Was it difficult?” She asked, while examining the wand carefully before she set it down on the counter to give Harry her full, focused attention.

“Oh, no. He had a handful of wands I took from him, and his was the friendliest.” Harry said flushing at his own words before he pocketed the wand again. Draco felt something warm and pleasant pool in his gut upon hearing that his wand was friendly to Harry. “It wasn’t very different than using my own wand,” Harry added quietly.

“Ah,” Kazmi said, her gaze assessing the both of them now. Then her face split into a knowing smile. “Let me see your hands Mr. Potter,” she held out her hands for Harry to put his into.

Harry shot Draco a confused look, which Draco responded to with a flick of his chin, encouraging Harry to do what she said. Harry rested his hands in hers, his palms up, and then she started to examine them the way she had done with Draco’s.

After a few minutes Kazmi looked up and searched Harry’s eyes before she extended a hand up in time to catch a wand box that was flying toward her. Draco did not miss the way that Harry took a fraction of a step back, his eyes wide at her actions. He didn’t blame him, he had thought that earlier he had just been too enraptured to notice her casting the summoning charms, but now, standing on the outside of the whole process, he saw she had not cast any spell he could identify.

Kazmi put the box on the counter in front of Harry, and Draco couldn’t help himself from leaning forward to get a look at the wand inside. The glass was shaped like a series of balls that got smaller as they reached the tip, and inside he could see a bright yellow feather and possibly some pink petals. Next to him, Harry let out a reverent gasp when he took in the wand.

Harry carefully took it out of the box and when his hand touched the wand, it lit up with small blue balls of light. He weighed it in his hand before giving it an experimental swish. The glass sculptures floating around the room all came to an abrupt halt. Kazmi made an alarmed sound and quickly beckoned for Harry to hand the wand back.

“No,” She said a little breathlessly when she had the wand safely back in its box. “Definitely not the wand for you.” She sent the box back to the shelf from which it came, and then she studied Harry again, this time her eyes sliding over to Draco for a long moment before a flash of understanding came over her face. “I know,” Kazmi said and then another box came flying off the shelf and into her hand.

When she opened the box this time, Draco couldn’t help his own gasp of appreciation. This wand had a strand of clear glass that had a purple feather inside that wove around a curving strand of a deep blue tinted glass with silver leaves inside. The way the glass strands bent together left an open part near the middle of the wand.

“Oh, wow,” Harry breathed and picked up the wand with reverence. This time the wand became alight with veins of bright gold that thrummed within the glass. When Harry gave the wand an experimental swish sparks came out of the tip, and light seemed to bounce within the middle empty part. He pointed the wand at the now empty box and said “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” and gave a delighted laugh when the box rose gracefully off the counter. Harry let it bob around in the air a bit longer before putting it back onto the counter. “This is brilliant!” he said, his voice brimming with joy while he took in the wand. When he looked up at Kazmi he was grinning widely, “I can feel it connect to my magic, it’s like it’s just an extension of my arm.” He wove the wand in the air, practicing some movements with it. “You’re really good at this,” Harry said grinning eagerly at Kazmi.

“Thank you,” she said, wearing her own grin, Harry’s glee was infectious, Draco could feel a smile tugging at his lips as well.

After a few more swishes and waves Harry suddenly looked back up at Kazmi, saying, “Really, this is a brilliant wand.”

Kazmi nodded wearing a benign smile, “And now it is yours.”

“Thanks,” Harry traced his finger along the colored bit of glass. “Do other wands have colors too?” he asked after a moment. Draco was also curious about this, the one that Harry held was the first he’d seen with color infused and he wondered why.

Kazmi folded her hands on top of the counter, her face turning grave, “No, no, there are very few that have colors infused into the glass.”

“Why?” Draco asked, finally speaking and stepping closer to Harry to get a look at his wand, as though it would reveal everything to him just from looking closely at it.

The cat got up and stretched and then jumped off the counter, disappearing in the back of the store.

“When we make wands we can infuse magical properties when we blow the glass, as I told you earlier Mr. Malfoy,” Kazmi began. “Sometimes there is a strong unforeseen reaction in the various magical elements we are trying to infuse into the glass. Some of these are salvageable, but many must be destroyed as the reaction produces something too unstable to be used. Very rarely do they match with a witch or wizard.” Now her brown eyes bore into Harry’s, “But you, you have walked with death and returned. Perhaps you have not realized it yet, but this has changed your magic.”

Draco watched as Harry swallowed and his eyes widened in shock before he asked, “How did you know?” very, very quietly.

“My life’s work is understanding the magical essence of each witch and wizard that walks into my shop Mr. Potter.” Kazmi said, and then her eyes turned kinder, “Yours has a strange sweet undercurrent that does not exist anywhere else.”

Harry’s lips had pulled into a tight line, “But how did you know I died? That could be anything.”

“That is hard to describe; however, there is also the matter of your lifeline.” Now she extended her hand for Harry to give his to her again. He did, much more hesitantly this time. Kazmi’s pointer finger traced the life line on his palm and then tapped his hand. “Right here, the line breaks apart before continuing.”

Harry bent close so he could look down at the line, “Oh,” he said, squinting at it. “I never noticed.”

Kazmi patted his hand and released him, “It likely only happened when you died.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, bringing his hand up close to his face, as though he’ find even more things hidden in his palm. He blinked a few times and then lowered his hand to look at Kazmi, “You won’t tell anyone?” he asked, his tone careful.

“Certainly not,” Kazmi said with a small smile, “Your life and your death are yours to share with whom you please.”

Harry nodded gratefully, “Thank you.” Then he lifted the wand again, “And thank you for making this, it’s really something.”

“And it’s all yours,” Kazmi said, and then when Harry gave her a curious look she elaborated, “Unlike a wooden wand, a glass wand has no twin. Each is a wand on its own.”

Draco suddenly understood the remark Harry had made earlier, a wand all his own, one that did not tie him to anyone else like his other wand had done. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“Great!” Harry said with a laugh. He then paid for the wand and got a holster for his wrist like what Draco had. Before leaving the shop he thanked Kazmi again and then swept his cloak back around himself before following Draco out into the street.

He wasn’t sure what Harry’s plans were, but all he wanted to do now was go back to Grearthon Gate and look through the library there. So he started walking down the street to where he could step into an alcove between some of the buildings that was large enough for him and invisible Harry to fit.

But when he opened his mouth instead of asking what Harry wanted to do now, instead he found himself asking, “You actually _died_?”

There was a hand on his arm then and Harry’s harsh whisper saying, “Shh! Not here.”

“Fine, but we’re not going back to your dark house.” Draco said decidedly and groped in the air for a minute before he grabbed some part of Harry and apparated them to the Grear Street. He was pretty sure he would have been able to apparate directly into the house without a problem since it was under his name now, but he didn’t feel like risking splinching himself or Harry if the wards still needed updating.

Harry’s hand closed around his elbow and his voice came very close to Draco’s ear, “Where are we?”

“This is Grear Street, we are in the wizarding part of Kensington.” Draco said, he’d asked his mother about the particulars of their location earlier in the day. Taking a look around and seeing no one else on the street, he led them up the walk to Grearthon Gate. “And this is our house in London, Grearthon Gate.” he explained and opened the front door.

Once they were inside Harry took off his cloak and was looking around with his eyes wide. Draco was also taking it in, it appeared that the house elves had taken the time they were out to fully open the house back up for living in, and it practically glowed.

“No wonder you don’t want to take Grimmauld from me, this place is gorgeous,” Harry said, a laugh in his tone.

“Yes, it is very nice,” Draco agreed with a nod and then led them into the sitting room. There was a cream colored couch in the center of the room that he took a seat on and waited for Harry to perch himself on one of the brown chairs that faced him. They sat in silence for a beat and then Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, waiting for him to elaborate on the whole _he died_ bit.

Harry blinked and curled in on himself when he realized what Draco was waiting for. “I haven’t told anyone, you know.” he said, his voice so quiet Draco had to strain to hear him.

Draco warred with himself, he was intensely curious to learn more, but he knew this was very rocky ground. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said at last and added, “I’m not going to tell anyone what I know.”

Harry met his gaze then and gave him a grateful look, his expression still drawn. “Thanks,” he said. Then he let out a sigh that seemed to pull his shoulders to the ground. “I don’t know, it’s not really something I can just bring up in conversation--and there’s never a good time for it since Hermione’s so busy and Ron well, he’s got enough to deal with.” He brought a hand up to scrub at his face. Then he gave Draco a rueful look, “And now _you_ know, though that was an accident, but you know all the same.”

Draco understood what he meant, it was how he felt once he’d become lucid enough after his panic attack to realize that he’d had one in front of Harry. Of all people, of course it was him. “Yeah,” he said, agreeing with Harry’s words, not really sure how to put his thoughts into words in a tactful way for the moment.

Harry didn’t seem to mind his lacking response, he nodded like he understood what Draco had failed to convey. “So. I died,” Harry said and crossed his arms across his chest.

It didn’t seem like he was going to say more so Draco leaned back on the couch and watched him for a moment before saying, “Was it before my mother said you were dead?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a short nod. “I didn’t rebound the killing curse a second time.” His discomfort over talking about it was apparent by the way he was now holding himself in a tight ball in the chair.

Draco remembered that night, when the Dark Lord had demanded Harry go out to him to be killed. Harry had gone out into the forest alone, he knew that Harry had faced Lord Voldemort, he’d heard it all at Narcissa’s trial, and during the brief time before when they’d spoken in low tones at the manor about that day. Draco just couldn’t imagine how awful it would have been to march into the forest alone, knowing he was facing his death. Draco knew he couldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have had the courage to face the Dark Lord, much less to face him knowing he was going to die. “I’d have been terrified,” he said after a long moment of silence between them, during which Harry had tied himself into a tighter ball in the chair, drawing his legs up and hugging them close.

Harry looked up at him then, his gaze assessing and curious. “It was what I had to do,” he said, his voice rasping in the room. “It didn’t matter if it was terrifying.”

The thought _stupid noble Gryffindor_ flashed in Draco’s mind, but he knew now was not the time to say anything like that. “Of course it matters,” Draco said, his voice thick but firm as he held Harry’s gaze.

Harry looked down at his knees and pulled them in closer to himself and did not respond.

Draco let out a long breath and perched his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to put his weight on them. He wasn’t going to press. Not now. Not when just a few short hours ago he was Malfoy. He didn’t want to set fire to the tentative bridge they were building, he’d rather lay some more foundation for it instead--he had always wanted to be Harry’s friend and now that he had the chance he wasn’t planning on watching it go up in flames.

He stared at where Harry’s hands were holding his legs so tightly to his chest his fingers were white with the pressure. Then he had an idea. “It’s your hands, you know,” he said, purposefully being vague.

As he had hoped would happen, Harry stopped moodily tracing the pattern in the carpet with his eyes to glance at Draco curiously. “What is?” he asked, hesitant and soft.

“When,” and now Draco was uncomfortable, but he tried to still the urge to fidget. “When I panic it’s like I get sucked back into the fiendfyre,” he said and Harry sucked in an audible breath at that. Draco shot him a self deprecating smile, “But then if I think of your hands, when you reached over to pull me out--well. It helps to pull me out all over again.” He finished speaking and now he couldn’t look at Harry, instead he visually traced the the carvings on the feet of the chair Harry sat in, they looked like tree roots.

“Oh,” he heard Harry say, an odd tone in his voice, but Draco was suddenly too afraid to look up and see what that tone meant. Then he said, in a very small voice, “I’m glad,” and Draco’s gaze snapped right up to Harry’s face to catch the small smile he wore.

Again, Draco didn’t know what to say, but he felt like something good had shifted between them.

Harry uncurled himself, his legs flopping back onto the chair with a thump and he let out a breath. “So what do you do around here?” he asked, taking a curious look around the room they were in.

“I’m not really sure, we never came here when I was growing up.” Draco rolled his shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I found a library upstairs I intended to explore later today though.”

Harry perked up at that, “Is it big?”

“Yeah,” Draco said with a laugh, and paused for emphasis, “ _huge_.”

Harry was on his feet immediately, “Let’s go!” he said enthusiastically, and then stopped and looked at Draco. “I mean, if you don’t mind me joining you?”

Draco pulled himself to his feet and frowned, giving Harry a once-over. “That’ll be fine,” he said putting on his most imposing voice. Then he shot Harry a smirk and led the way upstairs to the library.

Opening the doors with flourish to show off the grandeur of the library, Draco was not disappointed when Harry reacted with a staggered breath and a muttered, “Merlin.” Draco grinned and walked further inside, Harry trailing behind with his face expressing all the awe Draco had felt when he first saw the library the night before.

“You know, I always thought Granger was the one with a hard-on for the library.” Draco said with a laugh, his eyes sparking in amusement as he watched Harry.

Harry let out a bark of laughter at his words, “Hermione would probably live in here if she could, yeah. But I can appreciate a well-stocked library too.” Harry spun around, taking in both the scope in depth of the library, and the towering height of it. Last night, Draco had been sure it was likely two stories, but in the light of day he could see it went far higher than that. “How do you even get to those?” Harry said, his gaze on the high shelves.

“You’re a wizard, Harry, we use magic.” Draco drawled and then with a flick of his wand books flew off the shelves to form a floating staircase to take them higher. He started walking up and turned around to look down at Harry, “You coming?” he asked with a smirk when he saw Harry’s expression of pure awe.

“Shit, this is a real wizard’s library, isn’t it?” Harry asked and put a hesitant foot down on the first book, then when he saw it would hold his weight his steps became a little more sure as he caught up to Draco.

“Of course it is, it’s a Malfoy library,” Draco said with pride and ignored Harry’s snort at his words. “Anyway, you can do this in any library, Pince just thinks her books will be ruined if students did this all the time.” He had been walking up again but now he turned to shoot a look over his shoulder at Harry. “I imagine you wouldn’t have seen this otherwise because your friends likely don’t know the spells.”

“Hey!” Harry interrupted with anger.

Draco waved his anger away, “I don’t mean it like that. It’s not like the Weasley’s have a library, right?” he said and raised an eyebrow at Harry, Harry grudgingly nodded in agreement. “And Granger didn’t grow up with magic, so when would they have had cause to learn or use these spells?”

“Okay, yeah, I get your point.” Harry said, his tone going a little flat.

Draco turned to keep going up the book steps, that hadn’t turned out how he intended. It seemed breaking the habit of putting down Harry’s friends was going to be much harder than he thought. He scanned the shelves as they ascended, trying to figure out the order the books were shelved in.

“ _The Traps of the Hinkypunk_?” Harry started reading titles aloud, “ _Falling for a Veela, Court Trials 1879-1884_? What are these shelved by?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” Draco said, noticing just as many titles that were near one another and did not seem to be shelved with any rhyme or reason.

Harry laughed again, “Maybe you have an impressive library Draco, but it looks like you could use a librarian to bring it back into shape.”

Draco agreed, it seemed that whatever spells were on the books presently to shelve them in order must have decayed with time and now just shelved the books wherever.  They continued their ascent until they reached the very top of the library, where the ceiling was domed glass. From up here they were towering above the neighboring houses, affording them quite a view of the area.

They stood there, side by side on their levitating books, looking at the view for a bit in rather companionable silence. Draco wondered to himself where his life was headed, now that it seemed he had Harry Potter as at least a friendly acquaintance--though after the small talk they’d had in the sitting room he felt hesitantly hopeful that they would be on the road to something more.

“Was your mom serious about letting me stay at your place in France?” Harry asked after a bit, he was still looking out the window when Draco looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, she wouldn’t offer it lightly.”

Harry turned to face him then, “And she’s okay with me bringing Dean and Luna?”

“Even if she wasn’t, you were at my trial, all the Malfoy properties are mine now.” Draco faced Harry fully then to look him in the eye, “I really would like to do something good for them--” he trailed off, unwilling to go down that train of thought twice in one day and swallowed hard.

Suddenly Harry’s hand was warm on his forearm, and he was looking at Draco with kindness and concern. “Thanks. I’ll owl them later.” he said and then tugged on Draco’s arm, “How about we get back on the ground, yeah?”

Draco nodded in acquiescence, not trusting himself to speak right then.

Once they were back safely on the floor he turned to Harry again, “Can you--will you let them know I’m sorry?” he swallowed and his throat clicked, “I don’t think I can face them right now.” his words ended on a near whisper and he found himself looking at Harry’s ratty trainers. He really should have taken Harry clothes shopping while they were at Quentin Square earlier, he found himself thinking, rather uselessly.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said and his trainers shuffled closer to Draco, “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet and gentle and forcing Draco to look up at him. “Is there anything I can do, to help you with this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with his hand, but Draco understood.

A small relieved breath escaped his lungs, “I don’t think so, that’s what my mother needed to send owls for. I need to see a healer--from there I don’t know what will happen yet.”

“One day at a time, yeah?” Harry asked with a half smile.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Draco nodded. “Anyway, you have a vacation to get started planning.”

Harry’s laugh rang joyously throughout the library.

 

Harry ended up leaving a little bit later to head over to the Burrow. He asked Draco to owl him about the details of getting to the chateau when they had the time.  

Draco ended up finding Narcissa in one of the upper drawing rooms, he had not even realized that she was home. She was bent over the desk reading a letter, and a brown owl sat on a perch near the window when Draco walked in.

“Oh, you’re here,” Draco said when he entered the room.

Narcissa looked up, surprise written on her face, her hands clenching around the letter she was holding. “Draco, dear, come here,” she said and pressed the letter down on the desk, gesturing for Draco to come closer.

Draco came and stood by the desk he could see _Dear Mrs. Malfoy_ at the top of the letter before he slid his gaze to his mother. “What is it?”

“Good news,” Narcissa said and grabbed Draco’s hand, “Healer Spencer was able to refer me to a new Healer that recently started in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungos--she’s a transfer from America.” Narcissa looked down at the letter on the desk for a moment. “Her name is Healer Marisol Mallard and she has just written me back.” She squeezed Draco’s hand and smiled up at him, “She said she can start seeing you next week, isn’t that great?”

“Oh,” Draco said and stumbled forward to brace himself on the desk. One deep breath, then another. “Yes, that’s good news,” he said after another breath and gave her a smile. He was relieved to hear he wouldn’t have to wait long to see a healer, but hearing that he would be seeing her so soon gave him a strange flash of vertigo.

Narcissa’s hand on his arm tightened its grip, “You’ll be feeling better soon, pet.” Then she stood up and pulled him into a tight hug.

“What if I don’t though?” Draco asked, finally voicing the question that had been plaguing him since he thought that going to a mind healer could help him out. He was very much afraid that this would be his new reality now. While that reality included his mother being more lively, and being sort of friends with Harry Potter, he wasn’t sure he wanted to live the rest of his life getting stopped by panic.

“Then we’ll do what we can to make life more comfortable for you until you do,” Narcissa said assuredly. She pulled back from the hug to examine his face, “You’re stronger than you think you are, Draco.” Then she pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead, “And you are my son, I will do whatever I can to help you reach your happiness.”

Draco felt like he was crumbling to pieces, his emotions were so overwrought recently that it was a battle to not break down right then. He pulled his mother into another tight hug and buried his face in her neck, the hot sting of tears burning his eyes as he breathed in her calming scent.

“Thank you,” he said, once he had pulled away again and composed himself.

Narcissa just gave him a watery smile and then turned back to the desk saying, “Let me just compose this letter to Healer Mallard and we can book an appointment for next week with her, okay?”

“Okay,” Draco said, feeling like the braces he felt constricting his breathing recently had loosened just a little. He could handle this. He would see a mind healer and figure out, with help, how to stop his panic attacks. He thought of Harry’s small smile when Draco had told him about how the memory of his hands helped calm his panic, and he breathed. This he could do.


	6. Chapter 6

The following Wednesday Draco stood in front of the travelling floo, a pinch of powder between his fingers, trembling slightly. _He could do this_. Taking in a deep breath he threw the floo powder into the hearth before he could think too much more about it.

After Healer Mallard confirmed that she would be able to take him on as a patient, she had insisted on corresponding directly with Draco. She’d been surprised to hear that her colleague said she was working out of the Janus Thickey Ward and informed Draco that all appointments would be out of her home office.

So he had nothing to worry about, it wasn’t like he was heading into St. Mungo’s where there was a large possibility he’d run into someone who knew him. Draco really didn’t need it to become public knowledge that he was seeing a mind healer.

The flames roared green in front of his face and Draco stepped into the floo with his eyes closed. It was foolish flooing without his eyes open and he knew it, but he was already nervous enough about the appointment, going through the floo network with his eyes open so he could see the flaming tunnel around him wasn’t something he felt he was up for.

Due to his closed eyes he stumbled when he reached Healer Mallard’s gate, his eyes flying open as he found his footing on her rug. The room he was in was a small one with light blue walls and a number of plush chairs. There was a door to the right and the fireplace behind him, and then a window on the left wall, that was likely enchanted, overlooking a grassy meadow. Healer Mallard had told him that when he arrived he’d be in her waiting room, so Draco took a seat in one of the chairs and waited.

It was not long before the door opened and a tall dark skinned witch with large curly hair that would put Granger’s to shame, came through the door. She smiled at Draco and inclined her head a little.

“Draco Malfoy?” She asked, her voice light and pleasant. When he nodded she smiled wider, “I am Marisol Mallard, while we are working together you may call me Marisol, if that will help you be more comfortable.”

“Okay,” Draco said, thinking it over. He wasn’t accustomed to referring to people he’d just met by their first name. But then, he also wasn’t accustomed to having panic attacks regularly either, so perhaps it was time to make a few concessions. “Marisol,” he rolled her name around his tongue, trying it out.

She gave him a bright smile that lit up her eyes, “Great, and may I call you Draco?”

Draco nodded shortly, “That’ll be fine.”

Marisol’s smile stayed in place and she led in through the doorway into a room that was more subdued than the one they were just in. The lighting was a bit darker and calmer in here, and the colors were either deep tones or rich neutrals. Marisol took a seat in a dark wood chair and gestured for Draco to choose one of the three other chairs in the room.

As he sat down on the cushioned tan chair Marisol conjured and pen and pad of paper. Draco stiffened when he saw her start writing. “What are you writing?” he asked warily.

“Oh, just some notes, I’ll be taking them while we talk so I can make sure I’m doing my best to help you. Is that okay?” Marisol asked, stilling her pen. Draco stared at it, it was strange seeing someone not using a quill, but she was from America, and he supposed things were very different there.

“You’re the only one who will ever read them?” he questioned, shifting a little in his chair.

“Yes, all of my notebooks are enchanted to only show their notes to me,” Marisol explained with a small smile. When Draco nodded her smile set as she studied him for a minute before saying, “Why don’t you tell me what brings you in today, Draco?”

Draco shifted in his chair again, crossing one leg over the other, putting it back down again, then he crossed the other leg over before he could look at Marisol. He found he was wrong and couldn’t look at the compassionate query in her gaze and instead looked past her at the painting of a beach landscape behind her. Finally, he let out a breath and could feel his tongue untie. “I keep panicking, I can’t control it, and I--” his throat closed up and the words vanished. Draco swallowed, trying to get them to come back and ended up looking down at the rug beneath their chairs. It was a strange geometrical design, not like other rugs he was used to seeing.

“It’s okay, Draco, let the words come when they can,” Marisol’s voice was gentle. When Draco could only be silent for a few more moments she asked, “You are experiencing panic attacks?”

“Yes,” Draco said on a violent exhale. “It’s like the fiendfyre keeps coming back for me, and I can’t see, I can’t hear, _I can’t breathe_.” He felt stinging in his eyes, and the fire roaring at the back of his mind so he took in a deep breath and tried to keep himself under control.

Marisol waited until his breathing was calmer before she asked, her voice careful, “The fiendfyre? Would you like to talk about that?”

It burned viciously, trying to consume him. Draco shook his head once, closing his eyes and picturing Harry reaching out to him. “Not now,” he said when his throat didn’t feel like it was burning.

“Okay,” Marisol said, watching his carefully. “We will have to come back to it, but we don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Thank you,” Draco’s voice was hoarse, but he was grateful. He wasn’t ready to face the fire yet. It still burned too brightly for him to believe he could ever tame it.

Marisol took down some notes before she looked at him again, her eyes calm but assessing. “Would you feel comfortable telling me how you’ve gotten out of the attacks so far?”

Draco sighed and leaned back into his chair, “I suppose I’m okay with that.” His foot was tapping and he wasn’t sure when it had started, but he put a hand on his knee to still it and stared at the stretch of his fingers over the fabric of his trousers. “I think of Harry’s hand pulling me out of the fire, it seems to be the only way to get it under control.”

“Mm-hmm,” Marisol made an encouraging sound, but Draco really had nothing more to say, so she asked, “And who is Harry?”

“I think most people think of him as a hero,” Draco said. Here Draco had to laugh, _who is Harry,_ indeed. Who is Harry to him? Still a rival? Not an enemy any longer, surely, but who was he now? An acquaintance with history? A fragile and tentative friend? “We were schoolmates. I’m not really sure what we are now,” he said, realizing that the whole point of this was to be honest with her.

Her pen scratched some on her paper before she looked up at him again to ask, “He saved your life?”

“Yes,” Draco said, and then quieter: “because he’s a good man.”

“Harry is important to you,” Marisol stated, watching Draco with a keen gaze, her pen stilled as she waited for his reaction.

“I--” Draco started and stopped, his words caught in his throat again. It wasn’t something he’d put into words before, but he supposed that was true, that Harry was important to him--that he had always been important to him, in some way. Even as Potter, the boy who spurned his friendship and made him want to prove that he didn’t need friends like Potter. He’d always been important to Draco. Now Draco felt something warm unfurl in his abdomen and he pressed an open palm against his stomach. “Yes, I guess he is,” the agreement came out rough from his throat and he looked at Marisol a little sheepishly, feeling out of sorts that she’d brought him to a realization so quickly.

Marisol tapped her pen once against the pad of paper, “Why do you think that is?” she prodded gently.

“I don’t know,” Draco said quickly, immediately. He shook his head once and had to push down the urge to pick at the leg of his trousers.

There was nothing to hide here, he knew that. When they had exchanged owls all week Marisol made sure he knew that when he came to talk to her it was a safe space, where he could say anything and unless he was trying to harm himself or others, none of it would leave the room. Still, this wasn’t something he was sure he was ready to have out in the open. Thinking about why he’d always pushed Potter, why it had mattered so much to get the other’s attention--it wasn’t something he could let himself think about.

It had been made clear to him years ago by his father, that his preoccupation with Potter was not something befitting the heir to the Malfoy line. There were _duties_ and _obligations_ that were required of him, and having an obsession with one of the students in his year was decidedly not something a Malfoy should do. Even though Draco knew he wasn’t obsessed, he still berated himself for having this driving need to get a rise out of Potter that had spurred him all throughout their time at Hogwarts.

But acknowledging why he had gone after Potter and his friends, and why he cared about their business, and why most of all, it gave him a thrill to get a rise out of Potter--that wasn’t something he was allowed to do, not as the Malfoy heir.

Potter-- _Harry_ \-- fascinated him, from way back when that slip of a child had denied him and shown a fire in his personality that Draco had never encountered with his friends. But then, he ended up encountering many, Gryffindors especially, that seemed to have personalities that ran as hot at Harry’s--so it wasn’t just that. Draco just didn’t know what it was that drew him to Harry, that made Harry an important person for him.

When he caught Marisol’s gaze she was watching him kindly and said, “It’s okay, we’ll work on helping you find the words, Draco.”

He made a frustrated noise. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the words, if he knew why Harry was important to him he could put it into words. But he _didn’t_ know. “It’s not that. I just don’t know why he’s an important person to me.” Draco said, feeling both proud of himself for getting that out, and annoyed with himself for feeling proud over being able to speak a sentence. He never had trouble speaking before.

Marisol sat back in her chair, and Draco noticed now that that it was a rocking chair as it bobbed with her movement. Her pen was still and she regarded him for a long moment with her intelligent brown eyes. “Well, it’s safe to say he’s played a pretty large role in your life, isn’t it?”

“It’s safe to say he’s played a pretty large role in most of our lives,” Draco said sardonically. Marisol wasn’t from here, but he knew she’d have to be daft not to know what Harry had done.

The knowing smile she gave him then affirmed his assumption, “Yes, of course. While his actions have impacted all of us, he has had a much more personal and perhaps I might say, intimate, role in yours. Would I be wrong?”

Draco felt himself flushing at her words and hated himself and his pale complexion for it. “Intimate?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than it had been before. “No, not intimate.” he continued after a moment, after getting his voice under control.

Marisol gave him a patient smile, “That wasn’t quite the intimacy I was meaning, but your reaction is interesting. Would you like to be intimate with Harry, in a sexual way?” She sat forward again, watching him carefully.

“I don’t--” Draco started, “That’s not--” He pulled at the collar of his sweater, suddenly feeling much warmer.

Back in fourth year he’d come to terms with being attracted to men. After having the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons stay with them for the year and being exposed to more people around his age, Draco had realized that he was attracted to men, and not really interested in girls. Which helped him realize why he had always felt off about getting coupled with Pansy.

He’d just never actually _come out_ to anyone before.

“Draco,” Marisol’s voice broke him out of his reverie and he snapped his gaze from his hand on his leg up to her face. She looked a little worried, “I didn’t mean to pry where you are uncomfortable--”

“No,” Draco interrupted, and gave her a small half-smile. “It’s just,” he had to look away from her again, “I’ve never talked about it before.”

“Oh,” she said in a breath of understanding. “Would you like to now?”

“Maybe?” Draco looked at her through his fringe that had fallen in front of his eyes. He reached up and pushed his hair back, he really did need to get a trim, it was getting quite long now. “I think maybe later though.” he finally decided on. It was nice to have the breathing room to decide such things. That he could talk to her about being attracted to men, but he didn’t have to right now if he didn’t want to.

Marisol nodded and took some more notes down. When she saw Draco watching her she asked, “Do you keep a journal, Draco?”

He blinked and shook his head. “No, it had never occurred to me.”

“Hm,” Marisol sat back and her chair rocked as she thought over what she wanted to say. “Would you be willing to try writing your thoughts down?”

“I suppose I could try it,” Draco said carefully. It seemed a little strange, he wasn’t sure he’d have anything really to note down. But, it could help him get his thoughts back in order so he could stop having panic attacks. He was willing to try whatever she suggested if he could live without them again.

She nodded then with a smile, “Good. Just write what comes to you. What you’ve done that day, if you’ve had a panic attack, what has made you nervous, anything that comes to you.” Her eyes flickered to the left and then back to him. “We have a bit of time left, and I wanted to take this time to ask you if you will be going to your father’s trial tomorrow?”

Draco immediately sat up straight in his chair at the mention of his father. His trial was set to begin in the morning on Thursday, and Narcissa had mentioned how she thought it might be best for Draco not to attend. But he didn’t have the option of not attending, it was his father on trial. Aside from that, he knew it would be all over the _Prophet_ if he failed to show his face for the trial.

“Yes, I need to be there,” he said, his voice tight and belying how much the thought of going was fraying on his nerves already.

Marisol nodded grimly, “I thought you’d say that. In that case I want to take you through a few breathing exercises that may help you keep your anxiety under control while you are in the courtroom. Does that sound okay?”

Draco sagged in relief, “Yes, that would be nice.”

“I’m also going to recommend you take this to your Healer and get this calming potion. Only use it in times when you cannot get control over a panic attack and put two drops under your tongue.” Marisol gave him a hard look as she ripped off paper from her pad and handed it to Draco. “Promise me you will not abuse the potion.”

“I won’t,” Draco swore, and only then did she release the paper into his hand.

“Good,” she said and then sat so her feet were flat on the floor with her spine straight and her hands on her knees. “Sit like this and then I want you to breathe quickly in and out of your nose like so,” she demonstrated for him. It sounded a little silly, the way she was breathing, but Draco mimicked her posture and started to breathe along with her. When she saw he was doing it she smiled and stopped for a moment to say, “Great! Let’s do this for a minute if you can.” And then she cast a timer to hang in the air that counted down the seconds of the minute for them.  

Draco was able to keep up with it for most of the minute but near the end he started to feel a little light headed and had to stop. He leaned forward a bit and slowed his breathing to get his head back to normal. When he looked at Marisol again she was grinning at him.

“You did great for your first time!” She said with enthusiasm. “What we just did is called _Breath of Fire_ and it can help you order your thoughts a bit, and many report to feeling more energetic after doing it regularly for a while.”

“Oh,” Draco said an blinked, he would like to feel more energetic. Ever since he had started getting panic attacks he felt both like he was going to explode at the seams with restless energy, and like he could sleep for days.

“See if you can work up to doing it for two minutes.” She then wrote something down on her pad and looked back up at him, “And write in a journal at least three times this week. And I’ll see you next week, okay?”

Draco nodded, “Same time and everything?”

“Yes, if it still works for you next week, I have this time open.”

He agreed and stood, then offered his hand to shake hers, “Thank you, Marisol,” he said and she just smiled at him. “I’ll see you next week.” Then he turned to go back to her welcoming room.

“Have a good week, Draco. Be kind to yourself tomorrow!” Marisol said at his retreating back.

 

Instead of returning to Grearthon Gate when he went through Marisol’s floo he called out to go to the Shimmering Snidget, deciding that he would head over and get a journal to start writing in. He knew it would be far too hectic to try to get through Diagon Alley at all, especially with his father’s trial tomorrow. Usually the crowd in Quentin Square was much less feverish than the one in Diagon Alley, but apparently even they were susceptible to fawning over Harry Potter.

Draco dusted himself off in the golden tearoom and then headed on down the street to the stationary supply store _InkQuillery_. The store was a ways down the square from the Shimmering Snidget, and Draco found himself nervously watching the other shoppers as he made his way down the street alone. He felt like everyone was turning to stare at him as he continued down the square. A few times he turned a little when he thought he heard someone whispering his name, but when he looked no one around him was paying attention to him.

Draco quickened his pace. It was with a sigh of relief that he closed the purple door of _InkQuillery_ behind him. The store inside was small and cramped, but they had a vast selection of stationary. On the wall to his right was a shelving display full of journals of various sizes and colors, which Draco turned to immediately to start looking for one that he felt he could write in.

The shelves were well stocked with journals varying from large and bright pink with a shimmering cover, to smaller than his hand with a black leather covering. He took his time, picking them up and feeling their weight in his hands, rubbing his hand against the paper to see if the texture was something he liked, and even smelling the binding to see if it would end up reeking in the future. Eventually he decided on an understated brown leather bound journal, and even stopped by the selection of quills thinking he might get a new one for this whole exercise. When he was looking at the selection that _InkQuillery_ had though, his mind wandered back to Marisol using a pen instead of a quill. Perhaps having a change in writing utensil would be a good thing too.

Draco went up to the front counter holding the journal he picked up and found the owner standing there reading a large book that was open on the counter. He was an older man, his dark hair streaked through with gray, and he wore large black framed spectacles. When Draco’s shadow fell over his book he looked up with a slightly sour expression. “All you’re getting then?” he asked when he saw the journal in Draco’s hands.

“Possibly. You don’t have anything that looks like those muggle quills, do you?” Draco asked, setting the journal down on the countertop and deciding to use a term he was sure any wizard would understand. He couldn’t pinpoint when or why he knew what they called their strange small quills, but he was glad for knowing the terminology nonetheless.

“You looking for a pen then?” the owner’s voice came out gruff and harsh and he looked Draco up and down before pushing off the countertop to walk into the back room.

Draco stayed where he was and waited, not sure if the man was getting some of the pens, or if he had been offended by Draco’s question and now refused to serve him. He didn’t have to wait long, however, as the man came back out of the back room carrying a large wooden box in his hands.

“Not a request I get every day, I’ll tell you what.” he said as he placed the box down on the counter next to his oversized book. He waved his wand over it and there was a series of whirrs and clicks as the box opened itself up. It unfurled into a tiered display showing off many different pens shining in the afternoon light that came in to the shop. “They’re not muggle pens, if you want one of those you’ll have to go into muggle London. These are made by a witch who took the idea of their pens and infused them with a bit of magic.” he picked up one of the pens that was in a golden case with a dark purple alligator skin top. “This one has ink that will change colors depending on your mood as you write,” he picked up another, this one a gilded blue with intricate filigree patterns. “This one has a spell on the ink to show pictures of what you write, and all of them have self-replenishing ink inside.”

“There’s so many,” Draco breathed as he took them all in. He wasn’t sure what kind would be best for him, so he decided to go with one that called to him based on how it looked and felt in his hand. After a few moments of trying the different pens he decided on one that had silver filigree on top of a metallic dark red centre. “I’ll take this one, please,” he said and showed it to the owner.

“Ahh, good choice, this one is enchanted against ever giving the writer writer’s cramp.” He said with a smile and boxed the pen and journal up for Draco.

Draco thanked him and paid for his items. Then then took the box under one arm and headed back for home.

When he arrived home it was to a quiet, empty house. Narcissa had informed him earlier that she would be seeing Kingsworth about Lucius' s trial the following day. Apparently Kingsworth was not as self assured of winning Lucius' s case and getting him off without major sentencing, there was possibly the problem of admitting to a change of heart when he had gotten off for his crimes during Voldemort's initial rise on the defense of being imperioed. It seemed like a pretty sticky situation to Draco, and he did not envy the work Kingsworth had ahead of him.

After arriving at Grearthon Gate he made his way down over to the kitchen where he found a number of house elves working away at cleaning and cooking for dinner.

“Master Draco!” Lark appeared in front of him and gave a little curtsey. “Owls came for you, Lark will get them now.” She said and then disappeared in a snap. Draco barely had time to blink at the empty space she had occupied before she was there once more, this time holding two envelopes. “The letters came this morning, master.”

“Thank you, Lark,” Draco said and took the two envelopes from her small hands. “Have my lunch brought out to me in ten minutes.” He took the letters with him and continued out to the backyard where there was a patio attached to the gazebo out there.

The day was warm, and the afternoon cloud cover was hanging low in the sky making the world seem much smaller than usual. Draco took a seat at the table on the patio, and looked over both of the envelopes. Both were addressed to him in the same manner, and one was written in a looping script while the other was a tight scrawl that was nearly illegible.

He rose an eyebrow at the messy scrawled letter and opted to open the one with the looping script first. It read:

_Dear Draco,_

_Had I realized that you had a school of Dabberblimps in the lake by your château I would have brought along supplies! I think there are even some Larkspur Flies in your garden, I plan to go out tomorrow to try to find them. Harry helped me make some garlands from the flowers for protection against bad dreams, I enclosed one for you. I cannot wait for you to come join us!_

_Many happy returns,_

_Luna_

__

A smile pulled at Draco’s lips. He was glad that Lovegood was having a good time at their château, and was grateful to Harry for suggesting it--he didn’t know yet how else to make up for what she and Thomas had to endure in his manor, but he hoped giving them time to stay at the château in the summer could help a little. It looked like it might be, at least for Lovegood, but she had always seemed to Draco as a rather hard nut to crack.

Inside of the envelope was a garland of larkspurs, still fresh and intact thanks to a preservation spell. It was beautiful with the dark purple flowers all strung together like an indigo crown. Feeling a little whimsical, Draco slipped it over his head and let it hang around his neck while he opened the other letter.

 

_Draco,_

_Hermione made me promise to write her regularly, so I thought I might was well write you too since it’s thanks to you that I’m even here at all. Merlin. I knew you were wealthy, but this château is just enormous! I’m sure Hermione will chastise me for not knowing what a château even was before agreeing to come here, I suppose they are all like this? Though, I can see you scoffing at me now like you did in the library and telling me that of course they are not all like this, since this is a Malfoy property after all._

_Luna is loving it here, apparently you have some dibberblimps or something in the lake in the back, she’s pretty keen on spending time out there. She also got me to help out with stringing together those purple flowers. She’s a bit out there, but maybe there’s something to the larkspurs that could help you? Maybe as a focal point? Dean is also enjoying himself, I reckon he won’t write to you though. He’s been painting a lot. I can’t wait until he wants to show them off. Did you know he’s a good artist?_

_I know your father’s trial is on Thursday. Take care of yourself, Draco._

_Luna asked when you’d be coming to join us, did you tell her you would be? Perhaps you should, it might do you some good too._

_Thanks again for setting all this up for us. We’re popping over to Paris proper tomorrow, I hope the translation charms can keep up!_

_-Harry_

Draco’s fingers were tangled up in the larkspur garland and he worked at freeing them while he chewed on his lip, ignoring the inner part of him that yelled at him in his father’s voice that a Malfoy did not partake in such plebian habits as chewing their lips. It seemed that Harry would not be making an appearance at his father’s trail like the pardoning presence he had been at Draco’s and Narcissa’s. Not that Draco blamed him, as far as Draco could remember there had never been any positive interaction between Harry and his father.

He just wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen at the trail tomorrow. He loved his father, of course he did. But there was a large part of him that resented Lucius now, the way he had recklessly followed his ambition and led to the dire situation that Draco and Narcissa had found themselves in. Had it not been for Lucius’s foolishness then the Dark Lord would not have felt that the Malfoy’s had to prove their loyalty, and Draco would have never had the assignment he was always doomed to fail. A part of him was sure he didn’t want to see Lucius again any time soon, but he wasn’t sure he was prepared for the reality of his father being a prisoner if it came to that.

Draco let out a long breath and trailed his fingers along the soft petals of the larkspurs. He put Harry’s letter down, flattening it on the table on top of the envelope it had come in. His fingers came upon a raised bump when flattened the paper so he pushed the letter aside and opened the envelope again and was surprised to find a shimmering stone inside. It was black as night with veins of bright glowing green blue running along the face of the stone.

He looked in the envelope again, then turned the letter over, but there was nothing else that Harry had written to point out why he’d enclosed the stone. Draco examined it closely for a few moments, it didn’t look like any natural stone he had ever seen and he wondered why it had been made. When he closed his fist around it the stone gave off a wave of heat, and then another, and another, like the beat of a heart. When he focused on it, he felt his breathing come easier. Harry was right, a focal point was something he needed. He sat back and let a wave of warm calm blanket him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that the house elves had laid out a lovely spread for his lunch.


	7. Chapter 7

Thursday’s morning started gray with low cloud cover, the air thick with humidity and the promise of rain. For Draco, it seemed an ill portent for what lay ahead. Choosing his outfit for the day made him stall longer than he would have liked, he wasn’t sure if he should wear something that displayed his alignment with his family, and his father, or if he should wear something more subdued so as to avoid any attention. Not like it would help matters much, he knew he would be on the receiving end of many stares on this day. He was also aware that it could be damaging to whatever future he was going to work on building for himself if he aligned himself too closely with his father, depending on the verdict. Though he supposed, it might not really matter anyway, since he was obviously Lucius Malfoy’s son.

Lark appeared before him with a note from his mother that said: “ _wear the gray and burgundy robes._ ” Draco looked at Lark with a raised eyebrow after reading it.

“Mistress insisted, Master Draco,” Lark explained and then pulled said robes out of his closet for him. “Mistress is saying it is prudent for she and Master Draco to present a united front for today,” she said as she helped Draco dress.

Draco checked his appearance in the mirror after his robes were on and fixed a few lines to make sure they fell correctly. While he spelled his hair back he muttered to his reflection, “What are you planning, mother?” Though he was nearly sure it wouldn’t be long before he found out. Wearing burgundy, especially after the way Harry had stood up for both of them, was a deliberate presentation of their loyalties. He just wondered what that meant in regards to what Narcissa hoped would happen at the trial.

He ended up not having time to sit down for breakfast and met Narcissa in the foyer a bit before they had to go to the ministry. She was wearing dark burgundy robes accented with gray detailing, when she moved the robes shimmered and he swore he could see a lion rearing up in the folds. Her insistence earlier that week to go get some robes tailored made more sense now.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, “What’s all this then?” he asked, inclining his chin toward her robes.

Narcissa smiled thinly and reached over to straighten his robes while she spoke. “Don’t play coy, Draco. We both proclaimed our loyalties to Harry during the war, today some people just might need reminding.”

“And what of father?” Draco asked.

“Draco,” Narcissa began, and reached up to loosen some of the hair he had spelled back, letting it fall and frame his face. “You know that I love your father, but were it not for his reckless actions we would not have had to live as we did this past year.” She stepped back, looking her son over, and said, “I do not wish for him to be incarcerated again; however, I am aware that might happen. As I value you and your future more, it is prudent that we remind the public of our loyalties on a day such as this to ensure that you have every opportunity open for you.” Narcissa pursed her lips for a moment and then rose her chin.

“Mum,” Draco said, seeing the strain holding herself together was having on her. He grabbed one of her hands and gave it a squeeze. “I want you to be happy too.”

Narcissa squeezed his hand back and turned to give him a serene smile before saying, “Come along, let’s see what the day will bring for us,” and pulling him toward the floo.

They arrived in the courtroom before Lucius was brought in. Narcissa took Draco to the benches near the front of the room and sat so they would be able to see Lucius’s face along with the judges. After taking the seat next to her Draco took her hand again and gave it a squeeze before letting go and holding his hands in his lap carefully. They could make it through today, no matter the verdict. They were Malfoys, and more than that, they’d already come out of the war all right. No matter what the ministry tried to throw at them in regards to Lucius’s trial, Draco knew they could weather it. He just wasn’t sure how their family fit together anymore.

There was a commotion at the back of the courtroom and Draco turned in time to see Lucius being escorted into the room. His father walked in with his head held high, his robes whipping behind him regally, and Draco felt a pang of both pride that this man was his father, and envy, wishing he could command such presence with his walk. Lucius made his way down to the defendant's table, when he came up even with Narcissa and Draco was the only time his stride slightly faltered, and he gave them a sneering glance. Draco recoiled from the look and Narcissa’s hand quickly grabbed his, holding on tightly. Lucius swept himself into his chair, looking up at the judges cooly, and Draco swallowed hard. It looked like Lucius didn’t approve of Draco and Narcissa’s declarations of loyalty, and Draco knew that meant the trial that was about to begin would be very hard to get through. He squeezed his mother’s hand and sat forward a bit as he waited for it to start.

Lucius remained standing as they read out his charges: consorting with knowing Death Eaters, bearing the Dark Mark, unlawful imprisonment, coercion in regards to making others take the Dark Mark, torture, housing the Dark Lord Voldemort, consorting to take over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, escaping Azkaban Prison, and consorting in the take over of the Ministry. The court was after life in Azkaban or the kiss.

Draco shuddered in his chair, suddenly very certain that he would not make it through the trial. He was only minorly aware of Narcissa’s hand squeezing his again, his attention was diverted trying to keep himself focused on the present--he had known it would be a struggle not to get swept up in memories, but he hadn’t anticipated that the struggle would begin so early into the trial. Draco burrowed his free hand into his pocket searching for the stone Harry had sent, and upon finding it he held it tight within his fist. The stone emitted a continuous beat, like that of a heart, and Draco breathed a little easier when he focused just on that and the warmth of his mother’s hand in his.

The trial had begun. The prosecutor was not the same as the one that had worked both his and Narcissa’s trial, this time it was an older witch who wore her hair piled high atop her head and had large glasses that magnified her shrewd eyes. To Draco, she looked like she was ready to go in for the kill. She started with Lucius’s escape from Azkaban, and by using numerous testimonies of other victims she laid out the scene for what Lucius had done while working for Lord Voldemort. Draco marvelled at how she had been able to find all these people to give record for his father’s actions, and so soon after the war had ended.

In between hearing one older wizard speak of how Death Eater’s raided his shop, and he distinctly remembered the platinum blond of Lucius’s hair peeking out from behind his mask, and the memories of a witch who had seen her neighbor get abducted by Death Eaters, Draco found himself getting lost in the memories.

After the news that Lucius had failed in his mission the Dark Lord sent him on, and was imprisoned as well, Draco was summoned to a meeting of the Death Eaters. He had been excited, thinking that finally he was going to be a part of bringing about the world his father had always told him they’d form. He had felt important, getting a summoning, and knowing that he would be getting the Mark, since he was the only one of his classmates chosen for such an honor. He had never given thought to how painful it would be to be Marked, or how humiliating screaming in pain while the Dark Lord laughed over his crouched body would feel.

It was only after he’d accepted his mission, after he had spent months trying to fix the cabinet with Potter stalking his heels, that Draco realized he had been given a mission that he was meant to fail. It was only now, after seeing the way the Dark Lord had humiliated his family by taking residence in the manor, that Draco knew he had been intended as further punishment for his father’s failures. That Draco had not only failed to kill Dumbledore, but also failed to be killed in the process, only added to the humiliation the Dark Lord imposed upon them.

Hearing the prosecutor spin a tale of how Lucius had maliciously planned for his son to have to take the fall for him, and how he had been an avid part of the torture that had gone on under their roof, made Draco’s blood boil. He had been there, had seen the way the Dark Lord taunted his father, demanded his wand, and forced him to perform the duties of a house elf. As much as his father had always said that Malfoy’s would never bow for anyone, Draco had seen him do just that and more, while he tried to keep the Dark Lord’s wrath away from his family. She was painting Lucius as a man so power hungry he did not even care for his family, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Draco clenched his fist around the stone and had to measure his breathing by it to get himself under control. Kingsworth was the best, he would set the record straight. Draco just had to be patient.

But patience had never been one of his stronger traits, and Draco found the wait excruciating. Even more so when the judges called for a recess before the defense could bring forth their witnesses. Lucius was taken out of the courtroom through a side door before either Narcissa or Draco could attempt to say anything to him. Draco started to rise, but Narcissa’s hand, firm in his, stayed him.

Once the courtroom had nearly all cleared out she said, “Are you certain you wish to stay, Draco?”

Draco turned to her, stunned, “Of course I do, he’s my father.”

Narcissa squeezed his hand again, “All right.” Then she gave him a long look before smiling and saying, “Just promise me something. That no matter what happens here today, that you will keep moving forward with your life, and stop living in his shadow. There is so much out there for you aside from just defining yourself as Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

His immediate response was to bristle at her words, but her hand squeezed his gently and she was looking at him so earnestly, so he took a moment to parse what she had said instead of reacting immediately. Draco had always looked up to his father. Lucius was like an indomitable figure in his life, the well connected politician, the composed pure blooded leader, and, of course, as the head of the Malfoy family and his father--Lucius’s presence in Draco’s life was all-encompassing. There wasn’t a time he had not sought his father’s subdued approval. Draco had grown up groomed for the role her was to inherit as the heir to the Malfoy line, and seeing his father as the scion of the household, he had always wanted to become the man he father was.

Except.

Draco took in a breath, his hand was lax in his mother’s hold when he looked down at their joined hands and was momentarily distracted by the similarities in their coloring--but that was where it ended, his hands may had inherited the length of finger from the Black side, but he felt his hands lacked the grace and elegance that Narcissa’s just seemed to exude. He felt that even in this he was somehow a disappointment to his lineage, his fingers coming to square ends instead of the delicate tapering of his mother’s. He gently traced the lines of the bones in her fingers, unable to look at her face for the moment.

He had not thought of it as living in his father’s shadow. It was the way life was supposed to be, getting brought up to take his rightful place as the head of the Malfoy line. But the way she’d put it, that he was living under Lucius’s shadow--Draco felt a phantom itch where the Dark Mark was scarred into his skin--perhaps it was possible to live for so long under a shadow one does not realize there was even a lack of light until presented with its blinding luminescence.

It could explain why he felt so wrong footed all the time, now.

Draco felt he could risk looking at Narcissa’s face now, and saw her watching him with ever present concern in her eyes. All he wanted in that moment was for things to work out so he wouldn’t have to see concern in her expression like this in a long, long time. He gave her a small half smile, hoping it was encouraging, “I’ll try,” he said. He wasn’t sure how he could do it, or what it would mean to step out of his father’s shadow, when he’d never thought of it as a shadow cast over him--but for his mother he was willing to try.

“I just want you to be your own man Draco,” she said, giving him a small hesitant smile of her own. “There’s so much you can do, my pet, I hate to see you limit yourself to only following your father’s footprints.” Narcissa reached up to cup his face in her hands as she stared intently into his eyes. “I only want for you to be free.” she said vehemently.

He could only nod stiffly, his movement hindered by her hands, overwhelmed as he was by her words. Never had he allowed himself to dream of living a life that did not follow the path his father had set out for him--Draco grew up knowing that he was destined to both accept his duties as a Malfoy heir and shoulder the great power and responsibility his name lent him. To dream of otherwise had not occurred to him as it would be turning his back on his inheritance.

However.

However, perhaps, as his mother was saying, the path to being a Malfoy heir was not as linear as he had always believed. Perhaps there was more than just his father’s way of taking on his responsibilities. A part of Draco felt cold and traitorous at the thought, but a part that had been growing larger in the years felt like something that had been weighing heavily upon him was now lighter.

“Mum,” Draco said softly, and closed his eyes to her earnest expression. “Thank you.”

He felt her hands move from cupping his face to rearranging his hair carefully, and when he felt he could open his eyes again she was giving him such a soft look he felt his heart fill. She smiled at him and said, “Good,” she said, pulling her hands back when she was satisfied with his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t want to stay for the whole trial, Draco.” She said softly.

In that moment, with his mother smiling gently at him, Draco knew that it would be okay if he left before hearing the verdict. At least in her eyes, he would not be diminished for not being able to sit through the whole thing. But he also knew that in the eyes of the wizarding public that would not be the case, so he straightened his spine and braced himself. “I know, but I need to do it.” he said, just as softly.

 

Soon the courtroom was filled once more, and when Lucius was brought out this time he did not even turn to look at Draco and Narcissa. Draco felt something cold and hard twisting in his gut as his father’s rebuff. Now it was Kingsworth turn to parade out witnesses and spin his own story of Lucius’s actions. But before he could the prosecution stood and said she had another witness to bring forward.

The hush that fell over the courtroom at her words was so absolute Draco felt like the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. A spark of fear travelled up his spine when he thought maybe that was why Harry had been cryptic in his letter, he had planned on coming back for the trial to speak against Lucius--the fear came when Draco realized that he really couldn’t blame Harry if that was what he decided to do. He let out an audible breath at this knowledge, so this was what it was like to understand different perspectives.

But when the courtroom doors opened, it was not the familiar shock of black messy hair that calmly walked toward the stand. No, it was the fiery red hair of the youngest Weasley as she took her place, arranging her robes when she sat before she looked up and Draco knew that she was locking her seething glare onto his father. Draco was momentarily glad that she wasn’t so angry with him, he had learned that of all the Weasleys, she was not to be crossed. Her bat-bogey hex was a fierce thing.

He wondered though, what she would have to say about Lucius after all that had already been said. From what he remembered she spent the worst year at Hogwarts, and had never been in contact with his father for any length of time. Draco would not have to wait long to learn why.

“Please state your full name for the court,” the witch said, her shrewd gaze taking in the shock on the judges faces.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley,” Weasley said with a tight smile.

“Thank you. You have had previous interactions with the defendant have you not?”

Weasley’s expression seemed to shut as she stared down Draco’s father. “Yes,” she said, her voice more wooden than Draco had ever heard. He was far more accustomed to hearing her in anger, her tones snapping and lively. “Small interactions in recent years, so I do not have much to say about his activities since Voldemort’s full rise to power the second time.” Now she seemed a bit regretful to not have more to say, and Draco was ever the more curious as to what she was going to reveal. There was no lost love between the Malfoys and the Weasleys, but it seemed her hatred of his father was far more personal and he found himself sitting forward a bit, eager to understand why.

“That is fine Miss. Weasley, I understand that you have testimony to give the court about Mr. Malfoy’s actions in attempting to bring about,” and here Draco heard the witch stumble over her words for the first time during the whole trial, “V-Voldemort’s rise to power.” From the flash he saw in Weasley’s eyes he figured she appreciated the prosecutor’s attempt to be as comfortable with the Dark Lord’s title as her witness.

“Yes,” Weasley said immediately, her gaze hard and unwavering on Lucius once more. Draco tried to take in his father’s expression but Lucius only wore a cold disinterested mask, one that Draco couldn’t help feeling would not help his case. “It was before my first year in Hogwarts, the summer of 1992, my family was shopping in Diagon Alley to get school supplies for everyone when we ran into the Malfoys.” Here Weasley’s gaze flickered briefly, questioningly, to Draco and Narcissa. He wondered what she thought of them in that moment. “There was an altercation between my father and Mr. Malfoy, after which he sneeringly left us alone. But he made sure to drop a small little book inside of my new cauldron filled with my schoolbooks, something I did not notice at the time.”

Kingsworth stood up suddenly, “I object! The witness is giving testimony to events she has just admitted to not actually observing!”

The glare that Weasley leveled on Kingsworth was so icy Draco swore he felt the room go down a few degrees. “I’m not finished,” she said tartly, her eyes narrowed and her posture taut as she waited for him to sit down again. Kingsworth looked from Weasley to the judges to the prosecutor before he sheepishly took his seat once more. It was the first time Draco had seen him act like that, and he was rather surprised, his lawyer was usually much more composed. Once he was seated Weasley looked over at the prosecutor and when the witch gave her a small nod she started speaking again. “As I was saying, I did not observe Mr. Malfoy slipping the small book into my cauldron, but Harry did, he didn’t know what it meant at the time though. He has supplied me with the memory, should the court wish to view it.” Weasley slipped a vial out of the sleeve of her robe and held it up for the judges to see.

“Thank you Miss. Weasley, we shall take that into evidence,” one of the wizard judges said and gestured for the prosecutor to take the vial from Weasley.

Relinquished of the memory, Weasley watched carefully as the prosecutor handled it and presented it to the judges. Once it was safely put away she continued, “When I started writing in what I thought was a journal, it wrote back to me. I did not know at the time, but I was writing to a encapsulated part of Voldemort’s soul, and the more I wrote the easier it was for him to possess me.” Weasley’s eyes dropped from their hated stare at Lucius down to her hands, which Draco saw were twisted up in her robes now.

He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and his stomach filled with heated dread and his head a cold finality of certainty. Ginevra’s first year was his second, and he remembered well the fear that had encompassed the school when the Chamber of Secrets was rumored to be opened. But even with the students that had turned up petrified, Draco had always thought it was some other stupid lie that Dumbledore had cooked up to further the adoration for Saint Potter. It was just too much to believe that somehow there had been a basilisk in the school that was kept down in a chamber that _no one knew really existed_ , and that somehow Harry Potter had gotten himself down there, and somehow defeated the giant monster at _twelve_. Utterly ridiculous.

But if what she was saying was true, and Draco had no reason to think it wasn’t, he was pretty sure witnesses were given a modified veritaserum. So if it was true, then she at the age of eleven had been possessed by Lord Voldemort--and Draco felt the same uneasy tingling he’d been feeling often recently when faced with learning more that turned everything he’d known about his life and the world on its head. If the Dark Lord could possess someone through an old book, then Draco would have to concede that perhaps all those lies Dumbledore told of Potter’s supposed heroics throughout the years to enable Gryffindor to win the house cup, were not lies at all. And Potter really was as foolish, as lucky, and obnoxiously brave as the old headmaster had been trying to delude them into thinking all those years.

Draco felt something hard lodge in his chest, hindering his breathing, and chilling him thoroughly.

Draco zoned back into the trial suddenly, without even realizing that he had stopped listening. He paid attention again in time to hear Weasley saying, “Yes, he was able to open the Chamber of Secrets by possessing me, endangering the students with the end goal of taking all my power to so he could live again as he was when he had been at Hogwarts himself. It was only because of Harry and Fawkes that Voldemort did not return to power that night.”

Draco swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat, feeling hot and cold all over at her words. His father almost brought the Dark Lord back to power when Draco was twelve? And underground the school? He risked a glance at Lucius then and was disturbed to see the slight triumph in his father’s expression, tempered by a familiar look of frustrated disappointment--and Draco knew then that Lucius knew exactly what he’d been doing putting that book into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron and was still upset it hadn’t turned out as he had wanted. Not for the first time in recent memory Draco felt the chill of realization that he really did not know his father as he thought he did.

Suddenly he really did not want to sit through the remainder of the trial, he was sure he did not want to hear whatever Kingsworth was going to spin to attempt to get Lucius free of his charges. Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to see his father freed after hearing how he’d carelessly put _children_ at risk. He shuddered violently and scrambled in his robes for a moment before he could dig into his pocket and wrap his hand around the warmed stone Harry sent. If he had to sit through the trial, and Draco knew that he must, he would do his best to let his thoughts wander elsewhere.

Narcissa’s hand gripped his elbow, the movement hidden by their robes, and when he turned to look she was giving him and long glance of concern. She inclined her head toward Lucius and raised an eyebrow, to which Draco could only purse his lips into a thin line. Her hand squeezed his elbow again, her expression mirroring his, and then she released him, turning her attention back to the courtroom.

Draco tuned back in as well, and was surprised to see that Weasley was no longer sitting in the witness chair. Kingsworth was commanding the attention of the courtroom now, but even though Draco was watching the older lawyer he could not bring himself to tune his hearing back in. He had no interest in whatever lies Kingsworth would spin to try to shine Lucius in a positive light. Bitterly, Draco thought the best thing his father had done was to run through Hogwarts during the battle to find him instead of attempting to fight. But even that, he could not fathom as enough to make up for all Lucius had done in the Dark Lord’s name.

He found a part of wood engraving on the wall behind the judges to focus his attention on, and holding the rock that let out a steady thrum like a heartbeat, Draco let his mind take him away from the trial and from the present.

Instead he thought of what Harry and the others must be up to at the château right then. Undoubtedly Lovegood would be searching around the gardens for more of her strange creatures of dubious existence, Draco found himself hoping that she would find something that really did exist during her time at the château.

If he thought hard enough Draco could place himself in the bright fragrant summer gardens, as his guest must be experiencing them now. Since Narcissa had an ongoing love affair with Paris, Draco had spent many summers wandering the grounds of the château as a child. His favorite place was somewhere he’d only found after getting lost in the perennial gardens. Draco couldn’t remember how old he’d been, likely around six or seven, when he’d lost his balance and caught himself on one of the holly oaks, and found himself tumbling into a secluded grotto of sorts, even with its own tiny waterfall. He’d kept it to himself, even when the Parkinsons were invited over, he felt it wasn’t something he really wanted to share with Pansy. Now Draco wondered if it was something Harry would like, though with how he had found a secret chamber in Hogwarts in his second year, Draco was pretty sure that Harry would end up stumbling upon it on his own.

Draco’s mind snapped violently back to the present when he realized that he wanted Harry to find the grotto, that he wanted to actually share his secret place with Harry. Draco wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge, he felt strangely hot all over.

In his fluster his attention returned to the goings on in the courtroom in time to hear Kingsworth telling the judges, and the courtroom, how Lucius had read Draco’s hesitation in identifying Harry, and realized he had Harry Potter in his home and had to do what he could to help the Saviour of the Wizarding World. So he made sure to pull down the wards around the manor so Harry Potter and his friends could escape.

He did not hear the rest of what Kingsworth said, as the blood rushing in his ears kept him from hearing anything at all. Lucius knew? There was no way he’d known. If he’d known he would have turned all of them in to the Dark Lord. Draco’s mouth was suddenly very dry and he shot a look at his mother out of the corner of his eye and saw she had her lips tightly pursed, and her eyes were narrowed as she did not stare at Kingsworth, but instead was staring down her husband who was not even looking their way. She must have felt his gaze for her eyes flickered briefly over to him before she rolled her shoulders back and grasped his elbow again, her hand a warm solid presence that helped anchor Draco. It seemed she was just as shocked by what Kingsworth was trying to use as a defense as Draco, which made him feel a little better. But only slightly, since her surprise meant the defense tactics Lucius had decided upon were not ones he had discussed with her.

Draco was suddenly very glad at the outfit his mother had insisted he wear today, it seemed that Lucius was trying to pull something underhanded to get out of an Azkaban sentence and Draco wasn’t sure he could blame his father for trying, after all, it was his father that taught him how to use such underhanded tactics to get what he wanted. However, it was a slippery slope, and claiming that he had sided with Harry in the end, when there were piles of evidence to no change of heart--Draco did not hold out much hope that Kingsworth would be able to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes when it came to Lucius.

He felt comforted by the subtle proclaiming of their alignment that his clothing relayed, because in that moment he wanted nothing to do with his father. First, finding out he had brazenly risked the lives of children with that book that could have raised the Dark Lord, and then hearing him bald faced lie through his lawyer, Draco wished he did not have to stay as he would much rather have marched out in a huff.

It was one thing to lie about something to save himself, but to lie about taking actions that saved others was something that Draco could not abide by in this case. Not when what Lucius was lying about was something he had been terrified of someone finding out that Draco himself lied about in order to protect Harry and their hope for a future not under the rule of a megalomaniac. Draco felt like his father was trying to piggyback onto one of the only good things he thought he did right during the war, and as such felt an uneasy itch overcome him, like he needed a good shower.

He could not listen to the rest of Kingsworth’s defense. Whatever other tactics Lucius wanted to employ in hopes of avoiding his sentencing, Draco did not want to hear them. He’d already lost so much admiration and respect for his father in the last year, Draco did not want to hear the pathetic ways he might try to weasel out of the consequences of his actions.

He was busy trying to jettison his mind back to the sweet smelling gardens when his mother’s hand tightened on his elbow and Draco knew he had to pay attention again.The judges were filing out of the room so Draco quickly stood with the rest of the courtroom on their exit. He saw Kingsworth’s head bend close to Lucius’s as they shared a few last minute words before Kingsworth exited the courtroom as well.

Aurors came forward and flanked Lucius and began to escort him out, and when he passed by Narcissa and Draco, Narcissa leaned forward and hissed, “Lucius, what are you thinking?”

Lucius rose his chin when he glanced at Narcissa, looking down the length of his nose at them. “I think I am working with my best defense,” he said imperiously. Then he let the aurors lead him out of the courtroom. Draco was pretty sure they were escorting Lucius when they had not  done so for either himself or Narcissa because Lucius had proven himself to be dangerous and able to escape them before.

They watched the courtroom empty, Draco waiting for a cue from his mother about what she wanted to do while they waited on the verdict. She was standing very still next to him, and when he turned to look at her she was very pale.

“Mum?” he asked quietly, reaching over to grab one of her hands.

Narcissa let out a slow rattling breath before she turned her attention to him, her brave emotionless mask firmly in place already. But Draco could see through it in the cracks in her blue eyes, she was worried and afraid and trying so hard not to show it.

She squeezed his hand and rolled her shoulders back, standing straighter before she spoke, “It’s a good thing Kingsworth was able to get the goblins to place the vaults and properties in your name, pet.” The smile she gave him then shattered his heart and he quickly pulled her into a tight hug.

“We’ll make it through this, mum,” he said into her hair and felt her tremble a little in his embrace. It was his turn to hold her up, she had been doing it so much for him recently that he almost relished in the chance to pay her back. He started to steer her out of the courtroom, but then decided better of it, they would have far more privacy in here while everyone was out waiting for the verdict than if they tried to get through the throng that was likely out in the hall.

He sat her back down on the bench with his arms still around her shoulders. “Will you promise me that you will take a vacation for yourself after this?” he asked, looking at her with concern, her mask had never wavered or cracked, as he expected since they were still in public, but he worried for when it would.

“Draco, you know that I can’t,” Narcissa said, exasperation coloring her tone. “I need to stay here with you.”

“No, I need to stay here to get work done. You need to take some time for yourself.” Draco said firmly, and then gave her a small playful smile. “Come on, I know you’re dying to give our guests a proper tour of the château, mother.”

A very small smile started to tug at the firm line her lips had settled into, but she did not lose the touch of exasperation coloring her expression. “Draco,” she said, leadingly. Then she shifted out of his embrace, looking straight ahead when she said, “We’ll see what happens, then I might go see how our guests are enjoying the gardens.”

Draco knew that was as good as giving in as he would get from her right now, but he also knew it was as good as an agreement that she would take time to go travelling after the trial. It was all he could ask for from her at present, and it would have to be enough. No matter what verdict they came back with, Draco vowed to himself that he would take care of his mother. For now it seemed the best way to do that was to sit close and quietly with her as they waited to hear what the judges decided to do with Lucius.

When they returned and the courtroom was filled again it was overcome with a weighty silence as everyone seemed on the edge of their seats waiting for the verdict. Hidden by the folds of their gray and maroon robes, Narcissa’s hand gripped Draco’s so tightly he could feel his hand start to cramp from the pressure.

 

Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Draco felt Narcissa slacken beside him while his ears were assaulted by an uproar of noise from the crowd in the room. He could not tell if the majority were upset his father wasn’t getting kissed, and he did not care in that moment. His attention was centred on his mother who seemed to sway in her seat, so he put a careful arm around her shoulders to help her stand when the aurors brought Lucius over to say a few parting words to his family.

When Lucius neared Narcissa came alive and threw her arms around her husband, speaking in low tones that Draco could not overhear, before she pulled away. Her face was a composed mask once more when she nodded for Draco to speak to his father.

Draco stepped forward and when Lucius leveled his gaze upon him, Draco could see the real fear in his father’s eyes. He did not know when he would see his father again, Azkaban was not welcoming for visitations. From the crumbling in Lucius’s gaze, Draco figured his father was likely thinking the same thing. Then he was stumbling a bit forward when Lucius clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Take care of your mother, Draco.” Lucius said and then his gaze hardened and he gave Draco a curt nod before stepping away at the auror’s insistence. Then he was whisked away and out of the courtroom.

The crowd seemed to close in around them then and Draco was overwhelmed by the amount of people that were clamoring for them to say something. Then suddenly a large black man in auror robes elbowed his way directly in front of Draco, he looked vaguely familiar but Draco could not place his name.

“Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy,” the auror said, nodding to both of them, “Follow me and we’ll get you out of here.” He then turned to walk back out of the crowd, which parted around him.

It was only as the stepped to follow that Draco saw a number of other aurors close in around them, keeping the crowd at bay to ease their passage. The tall auror took them out into a side corridor, away from all the noise and people. Once they were in the quiet Draco found his voice and said, “Thank you.”

The auror smiled at him over his shoulder and said, “You have a fierce mother there, Mr. Malfoy. I’m happy to help you get out of that nasty crowd after what she’s done for us.”

“Auror Kingsley, is it?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes,” the auror said with another smile.  

“Thank you for your assistance,” Narcissa said sincerely. “Is there any paperwork we need to file now in the wake of my husband’s sentencing?”

Kingsley’s stride faltered briefly, “Actually yes, I suppose my getting you out there wasn’t entirely altruistic. If you’ll follow me to the solicitor's offices we can get it all sorted out quickly.”

Narcissa nodded next to Draco, and Draco wondered just how much Kingsley was telling the truth to begin with. Nevertheless he followed the auror with his mother, the others still surrounding them like a large scarlet wrapped entourage.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“And have you heard from you mother, Draco?” Marisol asked, sitting forward in her seat.

It was three weeks after Lucius’s trial, after which Draco had insisted that Narcissa take a trip to the château herself, and travel more after if she wished. Her last letter had spoken of how the gardens were doing, how charmed she was by Lovegood’s strange approach to life, that Thomas had shown an interest in learning about wizarding tattooing so Narcissa pulled some strings to help him get an apprenticeship in the city, and how Harry seemed to be a little lighter, but also a little lost. She seemed slightly concerned for him and mentioned that she was thinking of suggesting Harry take more time to travel around.

“Yes, she is doing well,” Draco said. He was a little envious of his mother, she seemed to be moving forward after the incarceration of Lucius fairly well, meanwhile Draco found himself increasingly frustrated by the fact that he needed the calming potion Marisol had prescribed just to get through a day without another debilitating panic attack. He didn’t want to worry his mother by telling her this, though.

“What are you thinking Draco?” Marisol’s voice was sweet and soft as it broke through his thoughts.

Draco sat back in his chair, letting out a frustrated noise before he could look at Marisol. “I just want to be _better_ already,” he said vehemently.

“Ah,” Marisol breathed out and sat back in her own chair then gave Draco a long, knowing look. She didn’t say anything for a long moment and Draco felt his aggravation with himself rise in the silence.

“I know it takes time. I _know_ that.” he spat. “Every good potion takes time to brew properly, so I am used to having to wait for results--but this is so _stupid_. I just want to move on with my life.” Draco finished, his tone taking on an edge of desperation he had not meant to let escape.

“Draco,” Marisol started, shifting in her seat. “You must be patient with yourself. It has only been a few months now, recovery can take years. You’re already doing well, but putting too much pressure on yourself can make you backslide.” She smiled at him, “Please be kind to yourself.”

Draco looked away, tracing the carpet’s patterns with his eyes instead of dealing with the kindness in her gaze. “It’s just--I have things I need to be doing right now.”

“So do them,” Marisol said immediately, “You might just have to do them a bit slower, and take a bit more time with them, but you can still live your life, Draco. That’s why I gave you the calming potion, so you could keep going forward while recovering from your anxiety.” When Draco just heaved a sigh and didn’t say anything Marisol shifted in her seat so she was sitting on her feet. “You mentioned earlier that you are going to start working on helping put Hogwarts back together, right?”

“Yes,” Draco said at length, not sure where she was going with this.

“Good, I think it’ll be beneficial for you to go back there.” Draco shot her a shocked glance. He still was slightly terrified of returning to Hogwarts to see the destruction of the school, and more than that, he was pretty sure he could not handle going back to the room of hidden things. Marisol just gave him an encouraging smile and said, “Sometimes it is best to face the things we fear, so we can see they are not as scary as we thought. That school was your home for six years, and I think it’ll do you well to return to it and help put it back together so you can remember the good that happened there over all the bad.”

Draco was quiet for a long moment, mulling over her words before he said, “I’m not sure I can.”

Marisol’s encouraging smile never wavered, and she nodded at him, like that was what she expected him to say. “I think you underestimate yourself, Draco. From what you’ve told me in our sessions already, you are a shrewd young man yes, but you are more resilient than you seem to give yourself credit for.” Draco made a noncommittal noise, hearing what she was saying but not believing her at all. He knew his character, and he knew he did not have a bone of bravery in him. Marisol shook her head gently and said, “It’s okay that you don’t believe me right now, you will someday. Anyway, I wasn’t saying you should go tomorrow, or even this week. But you have already said you want to go back to help, so I think we should start working on ways to make you feel more at ease with yourself and what happened during the battle in order to meet that goal sooner.”

Draco sat back in his chair and let out a long breath. “But what if I can’t?” He took in another shaky breath before he could speak, “What if I’m not strong enough?” he asked, his words so quiet he could have swallowed them up soundlessly.

Marisol sat forward and in a move incredibly uncharacteristic of her she reached out like she was going to grab his hand, before she pulled back again. “Draco, who do you think of when you think of a strong person?” she asked, her gaze calm and assessing.

He blinked, thrown a bit by the question and ended up saying the first name that came to mind, “Harry,” and then there was a sea of faces before him of his mother, of Severus, of those he saw fighting in the battle of Hogwarts and he felt intimidated and a little overwhelmed by the breadth of people he knew who were so much stronger than he was in spirit and in mind.

“And do you think Harry thinks himself a strong person?” Marisol asked, deftly pulling him out of his thoughts and forcing him to focus on her face.

Draco opened his mouth to answer that of course Harry did, but then he thought of the way that Harry had curled in on himself when he talked about dying and he swallowed the words down. “I’m not sure,” he answered instead. He found it hard to imagine that Harry _didn’t_ think himself strong, for who could be stronger than he who slew the Dark Lord? Who could be stronger than one who’d survived and unsurvivable curse, _twice_? If Harry didn’t think himself strong, if Harry wasn’t strong, then who was? But in that moment, thinking back to the snatches of time he’d spent with Harry recently, and the letters he’d received, Draco wasn’t sure that the person he was finally getting to know after all these years considered himself strong--despite all the evidence to the contrary.

“Don’t you think it possible that if someone you think to be strong does not think that of themselves, then I could be telling you the truth: that you are strong even though you do not believe it?” Marisol regarded him with her same patient and kind expression she used when she was challenging him, and when no words would come for Draco she said, “I’d like you to think about that before you brush off my insistence that you can do this.”

He nodded, and then she took him through some more breathing exercises to help keep his anxiety down. Before he left her for the session she helped him construct a safe place in his mind, somewhere he could think of when the panic became too much. Much like the thought of Harry’s hand reaching to pull him out of the fire worked, but instead something that did not have ties to a traumatizing event. Draco promised he’d work on it.

After his session with Marisol he had time to grab some lunch before he had a firecall appointment with McGonagall so he apparated to Quentin Square to grab a sandwich from Hiram’s, the deli. The lunch rush had already passed through, and the deli was only sparsely filled with a few late eaters sitting at a couple of the cramped tables. Draco was always vaguely amused that the owners, Hiram and his wife, did charm some wizard space to make the area less cramped, but when he asked Barb why she had just laughed and said it wouldn’t feel like a real deli if anyone had elbow room, now would it? Draco didn’t have anything to say to that, thinking privately that he’d probably like more delis if they allotted space for the customers better.

After getting his sandwich, made by a rather surly looking teenager, Draco procured a small table for himself to enjoy it. He wasn’t far into his sandwich before a shadow fell over him briefly before someone sat heavily in the chair opposite him. Draco put down his sandwich, about to tell off the interloper for their poor manners but his words caught in his throat when he looked up to Blaise’s grinning face.

“You’re a hard man to pin down, Draco,” his friend said, as though Draco was the one who had fled the country immediately following the battle and could not be tracked down.

“Blaise!” Draco said, too surprised by the presence of the other man to even attempt tempering his enthusiasm at seeing Blaise’s kind face. Draco had been in contact with Pansy and Greg in the past week, at least, he had sent out owls to each but had yet to hear from either. Marisol encouraged him to keep trying, telling him it was good to foster relationships especially with those who had been there with him during the war. However, she cautioned that he should not let old friendship hinder him from the growth he was going through right now, and should he not receive responses at all, not to blame himself. So seeing one he had called a friend for years show up suddenly was like a warm balm to the jittery nerves that awakened whenever he thought of the sorry state the amount of people he could call a friend had become. “How long have you been back?”

Blaise was all smiles, only his raised eyebrows giving away his surprise at how demonstrative Draco was allowing himself to be. “Only for the past week, I’m afraid. I’m sorry for missing your trial, Draco.” He leaned forward on his arms braced on the table and spoke in a low voice, a frown marring his features then, “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

Discomfited, Draco shifted in his chair and narrowly resisted picking at his sandwich. “No, you did what you needed to do. We all did.” he said and lifted his chin to give Blaise a look that he hoped showed how sure he felt about his words. Even if he didn’t hear from Pansy, and the silence between them felt like a thorn burrowing into his side, he had to trust that his friends were doing what they needed to survive in this new post-war world where all they’d been brought up trusting now fell away as old, useless tatters.

Blaise quirked a small smirk at Draco’s words, “Yes, I suppose we did.” Then he shifted back in his chair, throwing his arm over the back of the vacant chair next to him as he spread out and smiled fully. “Now that I’m back though, you really must catch me up on the news.” A raised eyebrow and then, “I had quite a lot to read from _The Prophet_ when I came back.”

His eyebrows climbing up to his hairline, Draco let out a small laugh. Aside from the outright lies _The Prophet_ still printed, he had to give them credit, he supposed, for the depth of their coverage for his and his parents trials. From a point of only getting his information from that rag, Draco could only guess how surprised Blaise was by what he read. “Yes, there have been some changes since you’ve left.” At Blaise’s snort Draco let out another laugh, that was diminishing quite a bit.

“I tried to contact you at the manor,” Blaise said after a moment, his dark eyes searching Draco’s face keenly for a moment.

Draco nodded stiffly, “Mother and I decided to move into the city, I don’t believe you’ve been to Grearthon Gate?” he asked, trying to remember if he had ever even mentioned the property to Blaise, at his friends confused expression he determined he hadn’t.

“No, I didn’t realise you had property in the city,” he said after a moment. “What are you to do with the manor then?”

Draco pursed his lips, they had not spoken about what they were going to do with it yet. He had originally thought that at some point he could go through it and try to clear out all the darkness that was left behind--but now, now that seemed like something so unreachable he could hardly see the point. Without even being sure if he wanted to return there, ever, it seemed even more pointless. “We haven’t decided yet,” he said after a lengthy pause during which Blaise’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher toward his hairline.

“Well,” Blaise leaned forward again, eyeing Draco’s sandwich with interest. Draco pushed it toward him without needing further prompting, his appetite was a flighty thing these days. Marisol said it had to do with his anxiety, it was difficult to feed an anxious stomach. “I imagine you don’t have to figure it out immediately,  so you can take your time. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

Heartbeat immediately speeding up, Draco held himself very still for a moment. It wasn’t that he was ashamed for seeing a mind healer--but he was ashamed for why he needed her. It didn’t matter what Marisol said, Draco still felt embarrassed about his panic attacks. The lack of control not only scared him, it irked him. For as much he had shared with Blaise through their friendship, showing weakness like that just wasn’t something he would ever be truly comfortable with.

Apparently he took too long trying to figure out how to answer him, because Blaise’s open expression flattened into an uncustomary one of worry. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned closer, lowering the sandwich he’d started devouring.

Draco nodded shortly, “I’m fine,” he said, tone just as short. “I’m sorting some things out before I can help with the restoration of Hogwarts.”

Blaise considered Draco for a long moment and then took another bite of the sandwich before saying, “There’s something you’re not telling me. I’m going to find out what it is you know.”

“I know,” Draco said with a sigh of fond exasperation. He could be okay with that. He would try to be anyway. Talking about it here though, he wasn’t going to do that. “Anyway, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing half as important, I assure you. Perhaps I should speak with the Headmistress about lending a hand in the restoration effort.” Blaise mused aloud before returning his attention to Draco’s sandwich.

Draco was content to watch him for the moment. It was nice to bask the the easy familiarity that they shared, where they didn’t need to speak to be comfortable. Instead, Draco took in the other patrons of the deli. There weren’t many, so it didn’t take long for him to assess the younger witch who was digging into a fat sandwich with relish, the elderly couple that appeared to be sharing a bowl of soup, and an older wizard who sat alone, picking idly at his sandwich while reading a large tome. Draco was just trying to make out the title of the book when the door to the deli opened and a deafening roar filled the shop.

Roaring like the uncontrollable fiendfyre. He was not aware of his stomach cramping violently, or his heart rate speeding up, he was too consumed by the panic which had spread across his mind at the sound and took hold like many barbed hooks. He tried to pull up the serene field he had been working on constructing in his mind with Marisol, but it was consumed by the fire and he couldn’t control his breathing because he couldn’t _breathe_.

Suddenly he was surrounded by warmth, something hot was grabbing his wrist and he would have screamed had he the air in his lungs to do so, it was the fire pulling him in and he knew it. There would be no hand reaching through the flames in time to save him, because he was getting pulled in and here was no escape. The heat at his wrist and warmth surrounding him started pushing him, and Draco stumbled. The shock of moving and not getting devoured by the inferno released some of the hooks of panic and he could pull in a breath of cool air. The incongruous temperature surprised him, and some more of the hooks seemed to loosen from his mind. The blackness that had shuttered his vision upon hearing the roar receded and he found himself looking at a wall that was covered in many sheets of paper and photographs.

He blinked, but nothing changed and he was able to take in another breath. Then another. Then he could turn his head to take in his surroundings and saw Blaise crouched in front of him, Draco realized he was sitting on some kind of wood crate.

“You back?” Blaise asked, his voice rough with worry. It was then that Draco realized the heat around his wrists was still there and looked down to see Blaise holding his wrists tightly enough there would likely be slight bruising later.

Draco tried to swallow past his dry mouth to unstick his tongue and said, “Yeah,” his voice coming out reedy and as weak as he felt in that moment. He blinked again, freed one of his hands from Blaise’s grip and started rummaging in his robes for the vial of calming potion, he should have done this as soon as he heard the roar and Draco felt a hot swell of shame for both being unable to react in a way to help himself, and that he’d had another public panic attack. After swallowing down a few drops of the potion Draco felt like he could face his old friend.

Blaise’s face was a mask of concern, and he squeezed the wrist he still held when Draco looked at him. “So what was that about?” he asked, a tentative smile playing at his lips when he saw Draco was looking a bit better.

“What I’m working on so I can help out at Hogwarts,” Draco said flatly, not enthused about having to explain how his mind had become his enemy recently. When Blaise just sat there patiently waiting for more. Draco let out a sigh and shifted on the hard crate, “What was that roaring? And where are we anyway?”

“A kid came in with some lion toy that must have been charmed by a _sonorus_. I think it’s a storeroom,” Balise said looking around them with vague amusement, “The owner let me pull you in here when you went unresponsive.”

“Oh,” Draco felt humbled by Hiram’s kindness. Blaise squeezed his wrist again, letting him know that he had gone quiet for too long again. “It was a panic attack,” he said in a rush of words, just wanting to get them out. When Blaise’s only frowned with deeper concern Draco gave him a small smile saying, “I’m okay now.”

“You didn’t get these before,” Blaise said, studying Draco’s face carefully.

Draco shook his head and stood up, suddenly feeling very much like he needed to get out of the small room and the shop all together. “No,” he said and helped Blaise to his feet, and then, “Would you like to see Grearthon Gate?” He knew Blaise wouldn’t be satisfied with a short explanation, but he had no intention of going through any more of it here.

When Blaise just gave him a bemused smile and gestured for Draco to lead the way he left the small room and made sure to stop by the counter to thank Hiram and Barb for kindly letting them use the room. Barb fussed over him, asking if everything was all right, and then insistently pressing a container of fragrant smelling soup into his hands saying it would help him with whatever ails him. Draco took the soup, feeling a little overwhelmed by their kindness, it was strange to him all these people who just gave effortlessly without wanting anything in return from him. He was not accustomed to this kind of benevolent kindness and still had to reign in his suspicions when someone did something nice for him without ulterior motives.

Soon he was going through the floo at the Golden Snidget with Blaise hot on his heels. Draco welcomed him to the London property and after calling on Lark to bring them tea in the sitting room, he took Blaise in there to catch his friend up on what had changed in the months since he’d been away.

“So you and Potter are friends now?” Blaise asked after Draco finished telling him about the trials, offering the château, and after a bit of consideration Draco decided to share about the letters he and Harry were exchanging.

They’d drunk most of the tea, and by now the leftovers had gone cold, but that didn’t stop Draco from wishing he had something in his teacup just to occupy his hands. Blaise was important to him, but so was whatever was happening between him and Harry, and he didn’t want to lose either of them. “I don’t know if I’d say friends,” he said after a long beat and stared hard at Blaise when he continued with, “But we are friendly.”

“You want to be friends though,” Blaise said expression neutral, it wasn’t a question. Marisol’s question from weeks ago echoed in Draco’s mind:  _Would you like to be intimate with Harry?_ A pool of heat settled in his stomach at the thought and Draco bit back a frown.

When he felt he had himself under better control he answered with, “Yes, I would.”

Blaise leaned forward raising a lascivious eyebrow, “I bet you would.” he said with a smirk.

Draco narrowed his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come off it, Draco, you’ve been pining after him for years.” Balise leaned back and slung a careless arm over the back of the sofa while giving Draco a very self-satisfied look.

“What? No I haven’t!” Draco said, feeling uncomfortably flustered. He hadn’t been, he knew that. But he still hadn’t actually spoken to anyone aside from Marisol about preferring men and the topic just made him feel too warm and a bit clammy.

“Are we still pretending you’re straight then?” Blaise asked with a slight frown. “How boring that was.”

Draco blinked at his friend and felt the strange urge to break into laughter. He shook his head and sobered from the urge saying quietly, “It’s not that. I haven’t told anyone but Marisol that I’m--” he snuck a nervous glance at Blaise whose teasing look evaporated into one of patience, and that gave Draco that final bit of courageous push he needed. “That I’m gay.”

“Draco,” Blaise said, tone low and just as patient as his expression, “Do you honestly think that there’s anything wrong with that?”

“No,” Draco shifted and leaned back in his own chair, his stomach squirming. “I can’t produce an heir--” he trailed off, the biggest argument he had always had for not coming out to at least his mother just did not seem to matter as much as it used to.

“You realize there are other ways to produce an heir than having to marry a woman, right? And your mother has known for a while anyway.” Blaise said with a careless wave of his hand.

“What?” Draco shot upright in his chair. “How?”

“I think somewhere between ‘Have you noticed Potter’s ridiculous hair this year?’ and ‘Did you see that horrific display between Potter and the she-weasel on the quidditch pitch?’ she _may_ have determined you have a bit of fixation when it comes to Potter and drawn the conclusion that you’re a bit head-over-feet for our saviour.” Blaise said, amusement glinting in his eyes when it took in the growing expression of shock on Draco’s face.

“I’m not in love with Harry!” Draco hissed, feeling the need to look around the drawing room just in case anyone could overhear Blaise and his outlandish accusations. Blaise only laughed at him, a loud guffaw that echoed in the room.

“I beg to differ,” Blaise said when he could catch his breath before he broke out into laughter again.

Draco frowned at his friend, he wasn’t in love with Harry. Yes, he’d always wanted Harry’s attention. And yes, he realized through talking with Marisol how important Harry was to him. And okay, yes, he might find the other man attractive--but Draco wasn’t _in love with him_.

Aside from the knowledge gleaned from sharing courses and living in the same building for six years, Draco didn’t know him very well as a person so he couldn’t be in love with Harry. It’s not like he knew how Harry takes his tea-- _with a splash of milk and too much sugar_. Or his favorite food-- _treacle tart_. Draco sat up straighter, feeling like his spine snapped into place the movement was so abrupt. No. That didn’t mean anything, he was just observant when it came to Harry. Anyone else could have noticed him slipping food into his robes for later, or the way he would refuse to get help for minor injuries and would wear a happy face to keep his friends from noticing when he’d favor one shoulder--anyone could have noticed those things, it didn’t _mean_ anything. Certainly not that Draco was in love with him. He’d noticed them to use to rile Harry up, not because he _cared_. 

It wasn’t like he felt like he could handle things better when Harry was around-- Draco sank back down into his chair, pressing a hand over his eyes as he groaned out, “Oh fuck.”

“There you go,” Blaise said, his words quieter than his raucous laughter had been, emphasizing how quiet it was in the house around them now that he had stopped.

“I can’t be,” Draco said, his words weak, but he meant them surely. “I have too much to worry about right now, I can’t deal with this.” Then he thought of Harry, and remembered, “It’s not like it would matter anyway, he’s interested in women.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” Blaise said and then stood up. “Anyway, don’t get broken up about this Draco, so you have a giant crush on Harry Potter. So what? Now that you’re aware of it maybe that’ll help it go away. Hell, maybe you’ll find out he has one on you--you weren’t the only one fixated if I remember correctly.” he added with a sly grin and then walked over to the windows that overlooked the street outside. “You’re right though, you do have a lot to focus on and I think that’s good for you. Do you know when you will be starting with helping the restoration?”

Draco pulled his hand away from his eyes, startled by the sudden subject change, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Blaise had always had a bit of a short attention span. “I’m hoping in the next few months. Marisol seems to think I should be ready for it sooner though.”

“Will there still be work to do then?” Blaise asked, still looking out the window. Draco wasn’t sure what he was riveted by, Grear was always a quiet street.

“McGonagall seems to think so, she said they aren’t anticipating being able to reopen the school until next year at the earliest.” Draco nearly went to join Blaise by the window, but instead decided to stay where he was, if there really was anything interesting out there Blaise would tell him.

“Not until next year?” Blaise repeated and turned around, shock written across his features, “What are the students supposed to do then? They can’t just close down the school and expect people to wait a year for education.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “I never knew you cared so much about the education of the students.” Blaise just raised an eyebrow right back and Draco shook his head in response. “Anyway, she said they will still be educating students. Apparently they are working with occupying some of the less occupied buildings in hogsmeade for classrooms, and she said something about the ministry working on putting up anti-muggle charms on a nearby field so they can put up some tents for temporary dormitories.”

“That’s pretty resourceful,” Blaise sounded surprised.

Draco didn’t blame him for his shock, he was surprised when McGonagall had outlined the plans to him during their last firecall, and he knew she’d be going into more depth during the one they had scheduled for later that afternoon. It seemed pretty ambitious to try to run an off-campus Hogwarts, but she said they couldn’t even set up the tents on the Hogwarts grounds since the wards were still so fractured. Of course, there was also the risk of some nosy student deciding they needed to peek around in the castle while it was still under construction if they housed the students on the grounds. Since the castle itself was so damaged, and the spells inlaid in the stones themselves was apparently reacting wildly in the aftermath of the destruction, it really wasn’t safe for unprepared students to go poking about.

When she had told him of their plans Draco had immediately wished he’d already cleared the dark magic out of the manor, it was certainly large enough to be used as a temporary location. and the grounds could house any additional tents that would be needed for dorms. But it was a moot point, he hadn’t started, and now September was just a month and a half off, there was no way he was prepared to work on it before the term would start.

He hadn’t mentioned the idea to McGonagall, he didn’t want to disappoint her even more than he already was with how he had to keep letting her know he still wasn’t ready to head back there and help.

“I’ll have to head to Hogsmeade to check it out, I think,” Blaise said and came back to the sofa he had occupied. “Have you heard from anyone else?”

Draco knew he meant Pansy and Greg, and probably even Millicent, so he just shook his head with a quiet, “No, none of them.”

“I know Pansy’s been in Greece for the past few months, but I don’t know about anyone else.” Blaise said, hovering near the sofa but not sitting down again.

“She is?” Draco asked, startled that she hadn’t told him.

“You didn’t know?” Blaise gave him a curious look and then it cleared, “Oh, that’s right, she left while you were under arrest. Said something about not waiting for them to come for her as well.” He stepped away from the couch and back toward the window. “I haven’t heard from her recently, so I assume she’s soaking up the sun on the Mediterranean.”

Draco let out a small laugh, that certainly sounded like Pansy. “I guess I’ll hear from her when she remembers we exist over here.”

Balsie shrugged, “I’m sure that’ll be soon enough, you know her, she gets bored easily without someone to complain to. Anyway,” he turned back to face Draco, “I best be going, I need to head over to Gringotts to sort out a few things.”

Draco nodded and stood, walking with Blaise back to the foyer, “It was good to see you,”

Blaise suddenly stepped close and surprised Draco by pulling him into a tight hug, whispering, “Take care of yourself.” Then he pulled back and gave Draco a small smile before heading toward the floo. “And let me know when you’re starting at Hogwarts, I think I might want to join in.” With a final wave he disappeared in the green flames.

Draco watched the flames die down in the grate feeling a little confused, he’d been friends with Blaise for years, and though his friend was more demonstrative than Draco, they never hugged. It was off putting seeing the small ways the war had changed them.

He stepped away from the foyer and cast a quick _tempus_ , and seeing that he still had some time before his firecall with McGonagall he made his way up to the library. One one of the large oak tables Draco had stacks of geology books, he’d summoned all of them to him a few weeks ago and was slowly working his way through them. After Harry told him he didn’t know what kind of rock it was, that he’d just found it on the grounds and charmed it to have a soothing beat, something Lovegood had apparently taught him, Draco was determined to figure out what kind of rock it was. It certainly did not seem like it belonged in the terrain of the château, and Draco wanted to find out why it was there.

He was flipping through one of the tomes that had illustrations, trying to match his rock, when his time charm chimed to let him know it was time for him to speak to McGonagall.

Her head was already floating in the grate when he arrived in the sitting room, and Draco felt a cold rush of shame for keeping her waiting.

“I’m sorry to keep you, Headmistress,” he said as he sat upon the pillowed area in front of the fire.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Malfoy, I wasn’t waiting long. How are you feeling?” she asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Draco had his hands on his knees and clenched his fingers around them, annoyed with himself even more for the attack he had earlier. He was supposed to be getting _better_ and it was taking far too long. “I’m still having trouble,” he said honestly. Ever since he had been seeing Marisol, McGonagall had kept in contact with him to stay informed on his recovery. Part of Draco was pretty sure her interest was because he had promised to assist with fixing Hogwarts, but a smaller part of him that he could not help turning toward, hoped that she was keeping tabs on him simply because she cared. He knew it was much to ask for, especially from a professor he had never had a strong rapport with while in school, but he couldn’t help that small part of him from hoping.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” McGonagall said with a small frown that emphasized her stern features. After a moment her eyes turned kind and she said, “You mustn’t give up hope though, Draco, the road to recovery is a long and bumpy one.”

“I suppose,” Draco sighed, still feeling like he was letting her, his mother, and everyone down by taking so long to get over his panic attacks. “It feels like I should be better already, is all.”

McGonagall was quiet for a long moment while she carefully searched his face, and seemed to need to gather her words. “I may not be a mind healer, however, I do think it is likely detrimental to your recovery if you compare yourself to a hypothetical timeline for recovery. It will take you as long as it takes, there is no right or wrong amount of time. The important thing is that you take care of yourself, Draco. As long as you are doing that, recovery will follow.”

Draco thought it was all well and good for her to say that, she wasn’t the one embarrassing herself out in public. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth, “Yes, I suppose,” was all he could manage.

McGonagall regarded him carefully for another long moment before she said, “I understand you’re not quite up for returning to Hogwarts yet, but I wanted to pose the idea of having you come to Hogsmeade to help get the buildings and tents ready for the students--” Draco had the immediate reaction of needing to decline but she quelled him with a look. “I will not push you, Mr. Malfoy, but I do need to ask. We need more witches and wizards with a talent for transfiguration to help get everything ready, and I never forget a student with a talent for the craft.” The look she gave him now was filled with pride, touching that fragile part of Draco that hoped she asked after his health out of caring more than duty.

“I--” Draco started to speak and felt at a loss looking at her expression. It was possible that he could go and help with the preparations in Hogsmeade, his memories there weren’t a tangled up mess of pain. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to be so close to Hogwarts. “Would you mind if I got back to you about that tomorrow?” he asked, and before he could see the pride vanish from her eyes as he feared, he hastened to explain, “It’s just, I would like to speak to Marisol about it first.”

“But of course!” McGonagall smiled then, “I will look forward to your call.”

Draco nodded and shortly after they closed the call, leaving him sitting in front of the cooling hearth feeling a little anxious and perplexed. He was eager to lend his help with resorting Hogwarts, and the setback of needing time to recover first was like a splinter under his nail with how much it annoyed him. Hearing that McGonagall regarded his talent for transfiguration so highly made him feel strong in a way he hadn’t in quite some time--and he found himself hoping that Marisol agreed that he was ready to help out with preparing the properties in Hogsmeade at least.


	9. Chapter 9

Hogwarts was renting seven buildings in Hogsmeade, three of them had been abandoned properties after the war, and the other four were graciously gifted to the school for as long as it would need the temporary arrangement. The witches and wizards who owned them having been Hogwarts students themselves, and eager to help bring a sense of normalcy back into their lives after the war.

Draco was working on one that in a previous life had been a dressmaker’s shop. He, along with two other volunteers, would be working on implementing wizard space charms to embiggen the space available. They were turning the building into a potions lab, and on top would be where the astronomy classes would be held--the night observations would happen in the field the dormitory tents were to be set up in.

After Marisol said she thought his helping out at Hogsmeade was a brilliant idea, Draco had called McGonagall the next day to tell her he’d be happy to help out. From there it was only a matter of giving him the floo address that she had hooked up in the town, and letting him know his assignment and who he’d be working with. He was only marginally surprised to hear he would be working with Granger, he already knew she was neck deep in helping out McGonagall thanks to Harry’s letters, and she was the only one who’d ever proven to challenge him in terms of best student in transfigurations. Hearing that he would also be working with Anthony Goldstein however, had been a surprise. Draco had never given much thought to the Ravenclaw, he vaguely remembered that Goldstein had been in Harry’s defense army, but aside from that he had no impressions of him.

After flooing in the office that McGonagall would be using while the school was in Hogsmeade, Draco made his way out of the building and to one a few streets over per her directions. He found Granger already waiting for him by the front door.

“Hello Malfoy,” she greeted him with a small nod.

“Granger,” Draco said with a nod of his own and stopped in the doorway with her. “Is there a reason you’re waiting outside?” He tried to peer into the abandoned property, but the windows were all boarded up.

Granger blinked at him for a moment, then she came to herself and said, “Just waiting for you and Goldstein so we can all get started together.”

“Oh,” Draco was a little taken aback, he would have thought that she would be eager to get started with or without them. “I guess I’ll wait with you then,” he said, turning to face out in the street in a way that he could still look at her while seeing the town.

Granger gave him a tentative smile and they stood in silence for a few minutes before she seemed to be unable to hold her words in any longer. “Malfoy, I wanted to thank you,” she said and seemed surprised by her own words. Draco didn’t blame her, he felt a bit like she’d slapped him again, he would never have thought he’d live to hear her thank him for anything—and right now he couldn’t think of why she was doing so. She took his stunned silence as her cue to continue, “I mean, for letting Harry and Dean and Luna stay at your place in France. He’s been writing me about it, and it sounds like he’s doing really well there.”

“Oh, well of course, it’s the least I could do.” Draco said and shifted so he could look at her a bit better. “I told him he could invite whomever he wanted, but he was under the impression that you and Weasley had too much to do here to go.” He tried to explain, hoping she did not think he had snubbed her on purpose, in this.

“We do,” she said with a grim smile. When she continued speaking her voice was much quieter, “And anyway, Harry needs time away from here. I’m pretty sure if he’d stayed around there would have been no end to the harassment he would have felt from the media.”

“Yes, probably,” Draco agreed readily, remembering the crowd that had squeezed around them in Quentin Square. Draco didn’t mind being the centre of attention, but that was something else. There was a desperate fanaticism in the crowd that day, and he figured it was a safe bet it would have been even worse in busier places like Diagon Alley. Granger seemed to be sizing him up again and Draco shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. “He does sound like he’s enjoying himself,” Draco said after a moment, when he couldn’t bear her gaze anymore.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, “He said he was writing you too. That you’re different now.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked out into the road again, wondering where the hell Goldstein was.

“I’m glad you’re getting along at least,” Granger said, drawing his attention back to her. “After everything, I think it’s time we get along.” She shot him a sardonic smile then adding, “And it means I’m not dreading working with you on this so much.”

Draco let out a surprised bark of laughter. “So much?” he asked.

“Well, you might seem like you’re less of a shit to Harry, but I have yet to see that for myself.” She said primly, pulling herself up to her full height, but Draco could see a spark of amusement in her brown eyes, and suddenly he felt like he might actually have fun working with her.

“I meant my apology, back during my trial,” he said after a moment, feeling something tentatively hopeful spreading between them. “I am really sorry for how I treated you, and for—“

“I know,” Granger interrupted, her eyes cloudy as she held his gaze for a moment before she broke it, looking off down the street. “And thank you, but I don’t—I don’t want to think about all of that right now.” Draco nodded, completely understanding not wanting to remember. Granger opened her mouth to say something and then startled, and waved at someone down the street instead. “Looks like Goldstein finally made it,” she said to Draco under her breath, while still looking down the street.

Draco turned and saw their errant Ravenclaw walking jauntily toward them, and he had to give Goldstein credit, his stride didn’t even falter when he recognized Draco. Though, he supposed McGonagall informed all of them who they’d be working with on this project.

“Hullo Hermione, Malfoy,” Goldstein said with a grin once he was within speaking distance.

“Good morning, Anthony,” Granger gave him her own smile and Draco hid his surprise. It seemed strange she addressed him by his first name when she’d called him Goldstein to Draco. “We were wondering when you’d show up.”

Goldstein had the grace to look slightly abashed as he walked right up to the doorway Draco and Granger were standing in. “Ah, sorry about that, I got a bit sidetracked at home.” Then he grinned widely at them, “Never mind that now, we’re here to get this building in shape for classes!”

Draco found himself in the odd position of sharing a bemused look with Granger before she turned to spell the door open.

First, they took a tour of the building to see what they were working with. It was a short two story building, with a small basement. Draco decided they should expand the basement and use it for the potions storeroom during the school year, and upon hearing no disagreements from the others, it was decided what to do with that floor at least. They weren’t sure where to put the labs, since it would be risky on the ground floor with the constant temperature fluctuations, but it couldn’t be on the first floor either. Draco felt stuck until Granger started laughing.

“Of course, we can just erect walls in the front to keep the classrooms away from the opening front doors.” She looked at both of them, amusement sparkling in her eyes, and Draco, for one, felt a bit foolish for not thinking of the solution himself. But then, he had never really dabbled with construction spells before.

And so they worked, first at clearing out the leftover debris in the building, from dilapidated shelving units, to off kilter mannequins, all of it was vanished before they could really begin transforming the space. Once it was cleared, Granger took out a notebook from the tiny bag she had hanging at her side and flipped open to a page where she started rattling off dimensions they would need for each classroom. She also had notes on how to do the spells to expand using wizard space, Draco had been running under the impression that one needed to license space from the Ministry, but he figured either Hogwarts already did that, or he was mistaken. He figured he could ask Granger later, Goldstein didn’t need to know about his lack of knowledge.

It ended up that they had to all cast together to get the charms to hold. At first they tried each tackling a floor by themselves, but when the walls would snap right back to where they had been, they tried it out working together and found that was the only way they could get the walls to stay where they wanted. Just expanding all the space in the building, in addition to the clearing out they had to do first, ended up taking them all day.

By the time the sun was hanging off the horizon all three of them were sweaty from exertion and exhausted. Draco was leaning against the front wall while Goldstein and Granger had flopped onto the floor, their legs sticking out as they caught their breath.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Draco’s limbs felt like they were made of lead and he wasn’t looking forward to getting home.

Granger, who had covered her face with a hand, lowered it now to give him a look. “Yes, well, we have our work cut out for us tomorrow.”

Goldstein groaned at the prospect, but lifted himself up off the floor, dusting off his pants as he stood. “After all that, I could use a drink. What do you guys say? Drinks at the Three Broomsticks?” he looked between Draco and Granger, his expression hopeful and optimistic.

There was something odd about Goldstein, he’d had the same cheery demeanor all day and Draco didn’t know what to make of that. Since they’d be working together until the building was fit for classes, Draco figured he might as well spend some time with them. “Drinks sound good,” he said and then he and Goldstein were both looking at Granger, waiting for her response. She let out a long breath and smiled before climbing to her feet.

“Let’s go then, I’m half-starved anyway. Who knew this would be so much work?” Then she was bustling them out of the building before putting a rather strong locking charm on the door. When she caught Draco’s impressed look before he could wipe it off his face, her grin widened.

Draco fell into step slightly behind Granger and Goldstein as they neared the Three Broomsticks. As much as he was interested in fostering the camaraderie they had started to establish today, he was apprehensive about actually going in. He had not stepped back into the Three Broomsticks since he had nearly killed Katie Bell in sixth year, and he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome inside after what he’d done.

Goldstein plowed on ahead, opening the old wooden door with flourish. “I’ll grab us a table,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared inside.

Draco hung back at the threshold, fingers playing with the cuffs of his robes even though he knew it was an awful habit to indulge in, he couldn’t help fidgeting. He could hear the hubbub from inside, boisterous laughter and loud conversation, and felt something inside him seize up in fear.

Granger was ahead of him, pushing her way into the pub, but she stopped when she realized Draco wasn’t behind her anymore and turned around, looking for him. “Malfoy?” she asked, holding the door open as she stood on the inner side of the threshold. “You coming?”

“I--” Draco looked passed her at the people sitting in the pub, they were all wrapped up in their own little worlds. Even so, he felt a stirring fear that as soon as he stepped inside he’d draw all their attention and cause a scene. “On second thought, I’m not sure it’s wise.” he said and started to step away from the doorway.

She stepped toward him, throwing a look over her shoulder at the din inside. “You’re afraid of coming in, aren’t you?” Granger asked, her shrewd gaze assessing him, Draco was sure that as usual in her eyes, she found him wanting. “You know there’s nothing in there to fear, right?”

“I’m not afraid,” Draco snapped, his annoyance with himself and her persistence lashing out. “I’m just being cautious. Madam Rosmerta has no reason to welcome me back into her establishment.”

“I’m sure she’ll have no problem with you if you apologize, especially since you’re helping put Hogwarts back together.” Granger crossed her arms across her chest and managed to look down her nose at him, despite her diminutive stature compare to Draco. “Unless all you’ve been saying during your trial and after have been just petty words. Though I suppose, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you never really meant any of it.” Her lips were a tight, scornful line and her brown eyes were cold as she stared him down.

Something hot and angry snapped inside him at her words. Of course she had no reason to believe he’d changed, Draco couldn’t believe he’d gotten his hopes up that things could be different now. That people would be more eager to look toward the future after the war, instead of holding on to the past--but, Draco sucked in a cold breath, he supposed he couldn’t begrudge her, or anyone, not when he himself was having such a hard time letting go of the ideals he was raised with. Just standing here, out in the cooling night, with someone who he’d always thought inferior due to her blood status, and feeling a need for _her_ approval, of all things. It left him feeling off kilter, like he’d stepped up for a stair only for his foot to fall through empty air.

He’d been feeling like that a lot since the end of the war.

“They weren’t just words,” he said after a moment, looking into her hard gaze. “At least, I do not want them to be and I’m trying to prove that they aren’t--” Draco tried to explain and let out a long breath when he figured his words were inadequate, again. “It’s difficult,” he finished, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

Her startled laugh had him looking back up at her quickly, she still had her arms crossed but was looking at him much more openly now, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Malfoy, nothing worthwhile ever came easy. Come inside, Goldstein’s probably wondering what’s keeping us, and you can have a talk with Madam Rosmerta.” She leaned back against the door, pushing it open again and started to go back inside.

Feeling like he was being set up for some kind of test, Draco followed.

Goldstein jovially waved them over from a cramped table in the corner.It seemed the place was overcrowded thanks to the efforts to make Hogwarts able to accept students in time for September, as the table Goldstein was sitting at already had a few others occupying the surrounding stools. Draco followed Granger through the throng of people over to the table and once they got closer he saw that the other stools were occupied by the Patil twins.

Granger climbed up onto the stool next to the more fashionably dressed twin and said, “Parvati, it’s so good to see you!” before turning to the other to say, “And you too, Padma, I didn’t realize you two were helping out.”

Draco had never really bothered trying to figure out which Patil twin was which during school, since the colors of their robes always gave them away, so he was grateful that Granger seemed to know them on sight. He slowly took the last unoccupied stool between Goldstein and Padma, who had opened her mouth to respond to Granger, but upon seeing him shut it with a snap.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked coldly, turning fully toward him, slightly placing herself between him and her sister.

Draco sat up a little straighter and said, “I’m helping get the classrooms ready for term,” and bit back the urge to look down at her, he wasn’t trying to intimidate and he wasn’t better than her--it was just hard to constantly remind himself to back off from the way he was used to acting. She had every right to question his presence, even if he felt otherwise.

Parvati scoffed next to her, “You? _Helping_?” she asked, and looked to Granger to back her up, but Granger just shrugged.

“He’s been working with us getting the building with the potions and astronomy classrooms ready all day,” Granger said catching Goldstein's eye when she said, “I think we did a pretty good job for one day’s work don’t you?”

Goldstein grinned, “Yeah, Malfoy didn’t even shirk about getting his hands dirty,” he turned his joking smile to Draco, “I’d have pegged you for running for the hills at having to do dirty work.”

“ _Servants_ work,” Granger added, a wry grin on her face. When she caught Draco’s eye she winked, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that, or their teasing. Mostly he didn’t know what to make of Granger, she ran both hot and cold toward him all day--he knew it’d be hard working with her, especially, but he figured it would be because of the animosity between them. Instead it seemed like she was trying to decide how to treat him now and sometimes would be kinder than he knew he deserved, and other times, like just before she was just as bossy and challenging as he knew her to be.

“Well, it has to be done,” Draco said stiffy when it seemed they were all waiting for his response. The weight of all their eyes on him was stifling and Draco looked away over to the bar where Madam Rosmerta was wrangling drinks. “I think I’ll go put in our order, what does everyone want?”

“A round of butterbears!” Goldstein shouted, his wide grin never faltering.

When there were no other requests, Draco slid from his stool and made his way over to the bar. He was glad none of the others got up to join him, their friendliness was unnerving him, and he’d rather speak to Rosmerta alone.

He elbowed his way to the front of the bar and waved her down. When Madam Rosmerta saw him she visibly hesitated before coming over.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked, looking him over, and bracing her hands on the bar. Draco noticed that she was pressing them down hard enough her fingers were turning white. He had anticipated that she would not be pleased to see him after what he’d done, but taking in her body language made Draco feel even more apprehensive.

“Well, my table would like a round of butterbeers,” Draco said and nodded over to the table. Madam Rosmerta looked and her expression softened before she turned back to him with her eyebrows raised. “And, if you have a spare moment, I’d like to take a bit of your time to give you an apology for what I did in your tavern.”

Madam Rosmerta looked at him for a long moment, and Draco tried to keep himself from fidgeting under her stare, until she finally found what she must have been looking for and gave him a short nod. “You were but a child in a man’s war, Mr. Malfoy. If you should try anything of the sort again, I won’t hesitate to kick you out into auror custody. But for now, enjoy your butterbeers. I hear the lot of you are working on getting Hogwarts in shape to accept students again.” She smiled then, and it was a wistful thing that tugged at Draco’s heart unexpectedly. “I think it’s admirable how much we’ve all come together to get the school into running order again.” She turned suddenly at someone calling out for her and with a small smile she was gone from the bar.

Draco stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he noticed the tray full of butterbeers that came levitating toward him and hurried to follow it over to the table. It seemed that many people were willing to grant forgiveness after all that had happened in the war. He wondered how long this strange camaraderie would sweep across the wizarding world, and how horrible the backlash will likely be when people decided to become untrusting and suspicious again.  

He returned to the table and was pleased to hear the conversation had turned to discussing the work they were doing in Hogsmeade. It was much more preferable to join in and touch on how he was planning on making the potions labs and improving on the design they were accustomed to in Hogwarts, instead of fretting over how fragile the peace they were enjoying seemed. It wouldn’t matter much for the company he was with once suspicions rose again, but Draco knew his seat at the table was tenuous at best.

He took a sip of his drink and listened as Parvati described how she was working with Trelawny on making the best classrooms for divination.  Draco sat quietly, absorbing the comfortable conversation from the group, and wondered what it would have been like at Hogwarts if students had crossed the house line barriers in the great hall more often. When he put his mug back on the table he noticed Granger giving him a curious look. Upon realizing that she had his attention she shrugged and took a sip of her drink, but kept watching him. The she smiled and turned her attention back to the conversation. Draco didn’t know what to make of her any more than he had before.

Draco ended up having a lot more time to try to figure Granger out as getting the building ready for students took the rest of the week and then the week after, with them and Goldstein coming in nearly every day. It was weird working in such close quarters with both of them, he’d never spent so much time with either of them outside of classes, and never without relying on being snarky. Realizing that they all had ideas for how to make each classroom best for learning, and that their ideas were valid and useful, helped Draco start warming up to them more.

Goldstein, having family obligations tended to leave earlier in the afternoon, leaving Draco alone with Granger often. The first time it had happened Draco kept to the potions classroom, not wanting to spend much time with her in case it was too awkward, but then she came down and found him and started giving him ideas for how to enhance the layout he had started working on.  After that whenever Goldstein left early they would find themselves huddled together going over ways they thought the curriculum at Hogwarts could be improved, and Draco found himself looking forward to their heated debates about different approaches to teaching material. Oddly, he found himself growing fond of Granger and her fiery passion when it came to education.

One evening while they were discussing whether it made sense to have an area of the classroom devoted to rote teaching and another for potion brewing, the door to outside banged open making both of them jump and grab for their wands, training them on the intruder. They let out mirroring gasps of shock when they saw it was Harry standing tall and looking ruggedly scruffy in the doorway, giving both of them a surprised grin.

“Harry!” Granger laughed in delight and ran forward to pull him into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming home.” she reprimanded when she pulled away.

Harry laughed and clapped his hands onto her shoulders, “Sorry Hermione, I thought I told you I’d be coming back today. I just saw Ron and he said I’d find both of you here still. Look at the pair of you, up until late into the night working on things for school.” he laughed again and turned his attention to Draco saying, “Hey Draco!” cheerily.

Draco took a step toward him hesitantly, even though they’d been friendly in writing he felt suddenly very unsure about where he stood with Harry. That, and Harry’s new beard and windswept hair stole Draco’s breath away. “Hello Harry,” he finally managed with a small nod. “It looks like France treated you well.”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a grin and released Granger to bound over and pull Draco into a hug, when Draco stiffened in surprise and didn’t return his hug Harry let out another laugh and squeeze him harder. “Thanks for letting us stay at your place, it was amazing.”

Draco felt his heart flip over and stepped back when Harry released him, “It was the least we could do, really.” he said and couldn’t help catching the smile from Harry.

Harry held his gaze for a moment before he broke it by looking down and shuffling his feet and charming Draco with his fluster. “Hey so, why don’t you guys tell me what you’re doing here?”

Granger straightened immediately and grabbed Harry’s arm to pull him further into the building and show him around, Draco trailed after them feeling amused. When Harry looked back to catch his gaze and gestured with his head for Draco to come closer, Draco felt a warm spike of affection run through him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle having Harry back in the country and acting so friendly with him. Draco was already ruined by him, and he knew it would only get worse. But when Harry was listening intently to what they were working on and seemed proud of both of them, Draco wasn’t sure he really minded being ruined like this.


	10. Chapter 10

They were nearly finished with the building, and earlier in the week all the volunteers had attended a meeting with McGonagall where they went over the progress they made. It looked like they were a little ahead of schedule to open the new classrooms, and the dorm tents were already set up. All that had to be done now was finish setting up and McGonagall wanted to go through and cast a few protective charms that only the Headmistress of Hogwarts could do.

Harry kept popping up at the building they were working on, randomly during the day and distracting them. Granger and Goldstein would ask Harry about his plans, since Goldstein was going to be attending for the newly made eighth year and Granger still hadn’t decided if she would rather study or help restore the castle. Draco knew his mother would like for him to go to school for the eighth year, but he felt that he would do better to help put the castle to rights. Harry though, didn’t seem to know much better what he wanted to do yet.

Or at least, he didn’t seem to want to talk about it, as whenever Granger or Goldstein would start in on being excited about school starting up, Harry would sequester himself down in the potions labs with Draco. Draco was busy making sure everything was stocked properly in the storerooms, but he really didn’t mind having Harry come and sit at one of the lab tables to watch him work. Often, he’d let Draco work in silence, but they would talk. Despite writing letter to each other for months, conversation was stilted between them now that they were face to face.

“Have you heard from Thomas?” Draco asked, deep in the storeroom checking that the preservation spells on the newt eyes would hold up. He raised his voice to make sure Harry heard him all the way out in the lab.

“Dean? Yeah, yeah, he’s having a lot of fun learning how to do wizarding tattoos.” Harry’s voice trailed in, sounding closer than Draco would have thought.

He looked up and was surprised to see Harry leaning against the doorjamb to the storeroom. Harry still hadn’t shaved off the short beard he’d grown while in France, and with the light of the lab coming in from behind him he looked strangely rugged and untouchable. It made Draco’s heart seize up to look at him. He swallowed hard and turned back to the ingredient jars.

“Are they like the Dark Mark then?” Draco asked. He couldn’t help running his hand over the mark he kept hidden with long sleeves. Sometimes he swore he could feel a phantom ache coming from it, but he knew it wasn’t real and Marisol kept working with him to make sure he knew that.

“No,” Harry said and he stepped into the storeroom and Draco immediately knew he had made it too small, there was definitely not enough room for both of them in there given how close Harry was to him now. Draco backed up against the shelves when Harry crowded closer. Then he was grabbing Draco’s arm, his hand hot through Draco’s sleeve where it covered the Mark. “This is a cursed mark, Draco, it is nothing like the beauty that I’ve seen in the studio Dean’s been apprenticing at.” He picked at Draco’s sleeve and looked up at him, asking, “May I?”

Draco breathed in sharply, surrounded by the spicy scent of Harry and feeling slightly overwhelmed. He looked down at where Harry was holding his arm and asked, “What do you want, Harry?”

Harry quirked a smile at him and then started to roll his sleeve up, slowly revealing the dark stain the Mark made on Draco’s arm. “Do you hide it because you are ashamed?” he asked, tracing his finger over the lines of the Mark.

Draco pulled his arm back out of Harry’s grasp. “Of course I’m ashamed!” he hissed and started rolling his sleeve back over the mark. “Why would I be proud of it?”

“Well, not proud,” Harry said with a shrug and reached for Draco’s arm again and rolled his sleeve back up. “But it is a part of you, part of what’s made you who you are today. What if instead of hiding it away, you found a way to alter it? To show how you’ve changed?”

“I don’t--” Draco swallowed down his immediate reaction to respond negatively. Harry had a point, it would be nice to be able to transform the Mark into something he could stand to look at. But, as Harry just said, it was a cursed marking, how could he transform it? He looked down at where Harry was still holding his arm and was entranced by the difference between the colors of their skin. Harry must have gotten sun while he was at the Chateâu for his hands were even darker than the last time he’d seen Harry’s hands so close to himself. “Would it even be possible?” Draco asked at last, catching Harry’s gaze and knowing he must have looked vulnerable, or at least desperate, and he hated himself a little for it. But if he could do something to change the Mark--

“I think it could be,” Harry said with a smile. His thumb stroked over the soft skin of Draco’s inner arm once and then he let go. “We’re wizards after all, why not try?” Harry stepped away from him then and Draco felt a keen sense of loss when the heat he was radiating dissipated. “Dean would probably love the challenge, anyway.” Harry added with a shrug.

“You think he’d want to do that for me?” Draco asked, taken aback. He had not heard from Thomas except for a short note thanking him for giving them time to stay in the Chateâu. Draco had not expected to hear much from him at all, and was honestly surprised when he had received even that note. He’d responded, but Thomas had never written back. Through Narcissa’s letters he’d learned that Thomas was doing well at the apprenticeship and had moved into a small flat closer to the city.

Harry was watching him with wide eyes, and Draco wondered what he was seeing. “Certainly. Did he not tell you how grateful he is for what your mother’s done by getting him that apprenticeship?”

“Well, yes,” Draco said slowly, “But I’m not her, and I would not deserve his forgiveness anyway.” he said with a shrug and felt the need to turn away from Harry’s earnest gaze, so he did and went back to examining his spellwork on the shelves.

“Forgive you?” Harry let out a small laugh and Draco’s shoulders stiffened as his hackles raised up. Then Harry’s hand was warm and clapping him on the shoulder, his breath beating on the back of Draco’s neck. “He didn’t blame you Draco.”

Draco could only shrug as he took in a long rattling breath. If he were in Thomas’s shoes, he certainly would only feel ill will toward himself. But he had learned much about the capacity for forgiveness in others, and Marisol kept reminding him that it wasn’t up to him if people forgave him, but it was up to him to accept that freely given forgiveness.

Harry let out a breath behind him that tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “Hey, want to come over for dinner? Hermione’s coming over after you’re all finished here.” he said after a long moment of just the two of them breathing quietly in the storeroom.

“Thank you, that sounds nice.” Draco said quietly and turned around, Harry’s hand falling from his shoulder. He’d felt Harry’s heat at his back, but he was still surprised by how close they were standing. In that moment he knew that if he only shifted forward a little he could be kissing Harry. The thought shot a frightened shudder down his spine. He couldn’t step back as he was backed up against the shelves already, and the look Harry was giving him made him feel like he was losing control.

Then Harry stepped back grinning and said, “Great! I’ll let you finish up in here then. You’re almost done though, right?”

"Yes," Draco said, meaning he was nearly done checking the preservation charms on the ingredients.

But then when he was alone again to do his work, Draco realized he just needed to finish this and the potions classroom would be ready for students. He felt a sudden thrill of excitement. It had taken a few weeks, but Draco had never given up or walked away from the project, and he had not experienced another panic attack the whole time he was working on the classrooms. Hope swelled in his chest. Marisol was right, recovery was possible.

He could still feel panic flighty and heavy in his chest, so he knew it wasn't completely done with him yet, but realizing it had been weeks since he'd last had an attack was uplifting.

Feeling rather excited by this realization, it ended up taking Draco far less time to finish his checks than he thought. Soon he was walking out of the storeroom to find Harry still in the classroom. He was standing by the far wall where the lectern stood and he turned around when he heard the storeroom door snick closed behind Draco.

"Finished?" Harry asked and started to walk back through the classroom.

"Yes!" Draco could not keep the excitement out of his voice, and he didn't really want to anyway. "The classroom is ready for students now." He added with a grin.

"Really?" Harry took another look around the room with wide eyes. "You've done a really good job, Draco." He shook his head with a small chuckle and said, "I can almost see Snape stepping in here, his robes billowing behind him."

Draco sucked in a cold breath at the mention of their deceased professor. He tried not to think about Severus much, it was far too painful to think on how he'd snubbed the help Severus had offered. Or how Draco had been resentful toward him up until the last.

Harry's head snapped up to look at Draco when he heard Draco's audible breath. "Oh shit, Draco I'm sorry." He hastened to try to ease his words.

But Draco just shook his head with a small laugh of his own. Now that Harry mentioned it, he could just see Severus walking in and barking orders to his waiting students. "Don't worry about it," Draco said, his throat tight. "I think he might have liked this." He took another last look around the room just to make sure everything was in order and ready for use. Then he caught Harry's gaze and asked, "So, dinner?"

Harry let out a small surprised laugh and stepped over to Draco, the two of them falling into stride together as they exited the classroom. "Let's just make sure Hermione is done and then we can go."

Granger was waiting for them out by the door. She was sitting on a stool she must have taken from the astronomy classroom, and she had a book open in her lap. At their approach she closed the book and looked up at them. The look she gave Harry was full of warmth, while her expression closed when she turned to Draco. Things were better between them, but she still regarded Draco guardedly and Draco found himself trying to break down the barriers between them. In the last couple of months of working so closely with her Draco found himself actually wanting to be closer friends with her.

He dearly missed Pansy, but she would not be returning for a while yet, her last letter spoke of travelling to Japan for a few weeks. While she wasn’t able to keep up with him quite so well during academic discussions, he did miss having a female friend who wasn’t afraid to call him out, and Granger kept proving time and again she really had no qualms getting in his face when she thought he was acting like an idiot. And recently he realized that it was friends who weren’t afraid to tell him what they thought were the ones he wanted to keep close, he knew his past self would have scoffed and even deigning to speak with those he was surrounded by now, but all he could think about was what a fool he had been as a child--and how glad he was they were giving him a chance to get to know them now.

“Ready to go?” Granger asked, tucking her book into the small bag she seemed to always have on her. A few weeks ago she’d explained to Draco about how the bag had an undetectable extension charm, so she could practically carry an entire library around with her at all times.

“Yeah, let’s go!” Harry said cheerily and led them out of the building.

Granger fell into step next to Draco and asked, “So how’s the potions classroom coming along? Goldstein and I just finished the last bits of the astronomy classroom a few hours ago.”

Draco felt a small spark of annoyance with himself for not finishing before they were done, but he let out a breath and told himself it wasn’t a competition, and besides he was working on it alone anyway. He blinked and then said, “It’s finished now. I just had the storeroom to check over and I finished that up before we came up here.”

“Oh, excellent!” Hermione’s excitement bled right into Draco.

Harry stopped walking once they were in a safe apparition point and turned to face both of them, grinning. “Okay, Hermione you know where you’re going. Draco do you remember or do you want to side-along?”

Having only been to Grimmauld in recent memory back before Harry went to France, Draco wasn’t certain he’d be able to arrive without splinching himself. “I’d rather side-along,” he said, feeling shy and exposed for saying so, “I’m not sure I’m remember well enough.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said with a smile and stepped closer to Draco. “By the way, Ron and Ginny will be meeting us there.” he added before reaching out to grab Draco’s arm.

“What?” Draco whipped his head up in surprise, but his question was cut off by Harry popping them out of Hogsmeade. Then they were landing in the same kitchen Harry had carted them off to months ago, and Draco’s stumble that started back in Hogsmeade came into full effect now, and he tripped into Harry. He pushed himself away, knowing his cheeks were dark with his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said and stepped away from Harry, who had his hands out to help steady Draco.

“Hey, you all right?” Harry asked, looking up at him with concern.

“Yeah,” Draco answered, brushing off his robes and getting caught by Harry’s gaze. “Just was a bit of a surprise is all. And you should really practice your apparition, you’re horrible.” he sniffed and looked around the kitchen. Hermione was standing over by the counter, watching them with unguarded amusement.

Harry just laughed and shook his head, “Well at least I know you’re fine, or you wouldn’t be acting like such a little shit.” He looked over at Hermione and nodded, “All right there, Hermione?”

“All right, Harry,” she said with a grin. “So what are we doing for dinner?”

"Oh, Ron said Mrs. Weasley would be sending them over with some food." Harry said with a small shrug. "They'll be here soon."

Granger levelled Harry with a stern glare that Draco was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of. "Harry Potter! You are not making that poor woman cook us dinner because you are too lazy!"

Harry looked rather taken aback by her words. "You know how she is, Hermione. She took one look at me when I came back and now whenever Ron comes over he's always carrying a whole feast with him." He said and stepped over to the door to the kitchen. "I tried to tell her I'm fine, but she won't have any of it. I think it makes her feel better to have people to cook for, you know?" He added quietly.

Draco felt a bit like he was imposing on a conversation he had no right to be privy to, so he started backing up against the cupboards, trying to remain unobtrusive while also aiming for the kitchen door. Dinner had sounded like a good idea when Harry originally invited him, but now that he knew two of the Weasleys would be in attendance he felt like this was a dinner far too intimate for him to be at. Especially since the conversation Harry and Granger were skirting around definitely had to do with the loss of Fred Weasley.

Granger sighed and seemed like she was about to say something when there was a loud clanging sound that echoed through the house.

“Look, that’ll be them Hermione.” Harry said as he opened the door to the hallway.

“I’m sorry Harry,” Granger said quietly and Harry just nodded his head to her and then he was out of the kitchen.

Draco stood near the door, feeling very much like he needed to leave and when Granger looked over to him he said as much saying, “I should probably go.”

Granger sagged against the cupboards behind her and let out a long breath. “No, Malfoy, Harry wanted you to come, so please stay. I find I’m not adverse to having you around either, and dinner should be amusing, at the very least.” Then she pushed off the countertop and turned around to start rummaging in the cabinets. “Come on, we might as well set the table.” she said and looked over she shoulder at him briefly before returning to her search.

Draco turned to start looking for plates and things. He found utensils in a drawer and started pulling out enough for everyone. "I'm not adverse to your company either, Granger." He said after a moment and she let out a breathless laugh.

They could hear mumbled conversation that let them know that someone at least had arrived and was talking to Harry. Draco wondered if Harry was doing a better job of warning them of his presence here than Harry had done letting him know the Weasleys would be coming.

"It's been hard for them," Granger said when it didn't sound like the conversation in the hall was coming any closer.

She had started laying out plates and bowls on the worn wooden table and a part of Draco was slightly horrified that she wanted them to eat in the kitchen. As though there wasn't a perfectly good dining room. Draco had not ever seen it that he could remember, but this was a Black house and if they were anything like every other pureblood family, the thought of eating in the kitchen like servants would never have been considered.

But Draco wasn't eating with the Blacks or his family, or any of their family friends. He was with people who didn't see any reason to put stock in the types of traditions Draco had grown up with. He supposed eating in here might feel more homey and cozy, and he found he was eager to learn if he liked that.

They'd finished setting the table in silence, Draco didn't know what to say to Granger.

"Come on let's just sit, they'll be in in a minute."

"Don't you want to go be with them?" Draco asked, finally voicing what he'd thought was a little off.

Granger sighed again and sat down with an audible thump. "I do. Of course I do. It's just I know Harry hasn't seen much of either of them since getting back. He hasn't wanted in impose on them at home, and well, all the Weasleys are spending a lot of time there."

"Oh," Draco said, not sure what else to say to that. He'd known that they were spending a lot of time at home, together. Harry had told him as much. He had not realized they were still so fragile.

"Honestly I think they just want to make sure Molly and Arthur are okay, Ron sounds like he's getting pretty restless spending so much time at home. And I think Ginny will be coming for her seventh year when term starts." Granger reached up to tug at one of her curls. "I haven't spoken to her as much as I should." She added quietly.

There was something there. Something more than just guilt in Granger's tone and Draco knew he had no right to pry, despite how curious he felt. The voices came closer and then Harry was pushing the door open to the kitchen saying, “I can’t believe how much she sent with you!” while a parade of dishes levitated in front of him.

“What’d I tell you, mate, she heard you were having a few of us over and went all out. Especially after I told her Malfoy would be here.” Weasley’s voice came half a second before he entered the room. He stilled for a moment when he saw Draco and Granger sitting at the table and he said stiffy, “Hey Malfoy,” and then much more warmly, “Hello Hermione.”

Ginvera loped in after him and leaned her arm on Harry’s shoulders as she took in the sight before her. “She thought you looked rather peaky at your father’s trial,” she said by way of greeting. Draco wondered where Mrs. Weasley might have seen him that day, but he generally didn’t try to remember that day. Ginvera looked him up and down now and then said, “You could use some of mum’s cooking, Malfoy.” Then she sat down at the table and the many dishes followed her movement, nudging themselves into place on the table.

Harry and Weasley sat at the table, Harry sitting down next to Draco and Weasley by Granger. Draco sat stiffly, feeling incredibly uneasy by the easy way they both were speaking to him. He had not had any contact with either of them since the war, he could not fathom why they’d be so okay with him sitting down to dinner with them.

Weasley leaned forward on his elbows that he’d braced on the table, he was giving Draco a curious look and Draco bit his tongue to keep the sharp remark to being the object of Weasley’s attention that wanted to escape. “I keep hearing from Harry and Hermione about how much you’ve changed, Malfoy, and I guess I’m willing to give you a chance to show me too.” Now he pointed one finger at Draco, his eyes narrowing a little as he examined Draco’s face. “But you hurt anyone I care about and I’m done with you.”

Draco nodded, “That’s fair, “ he conceded. He wasn’t about to shit on an olive branch when he was presented with one, even if it was from a Weasley. The Weasleys were important to Harry, and Draco knew that if he wanted to keep up this friendship they were building he would have to get along with the Weasleys. He looked over at Ginvera who had an elbow on the table so she could prop her face up with her hand.

She was watching their exchange with her lips pressed firmly together, but when she noticed Draco’s attention on her she shrugged and sat up straighter. “I just want to know, did you know about the journal your father put in my cauldron?” she asked, her brown eyes fierce and burning into him.

“No.” Draco said immediately. “I had no idea.”

Ginvera nodded. “Hermione tells us you’ve been working hard to make it possible for students to go back to Hogwarts in two weeks. Why are you doing that?”

Draco had to look away from her unnerving gaze, and he looked to the others at the table, who were all watching him intently for his answer. “Because I need to.” he said and let out a breath. “It’s because of my actions that Hogwarts was so weak to begin with. It’s because of me that Hogwarts fell, that Dumbledore died, that so many more fell in the battle. I need to fix the school because I broke it.” he finished speaking and couldn’t look at any of them, instead finding the whorls in the wood table far more interesting to focus on.

It was silent in the kitchen for a few moments, and Draco felt their stares on him like lead weights. Then Harry’s voice broke through the pressing quiet, “No one person could have changed the tide of the war like that, Draco.”

“You did,” Draco said immediately, looking up at Harry in confusion.

“Never alone. It was never just because of me,” Harry said with a small smile. “And you weren’t the one who let the Death Eater’s stay in the school, you weren’t the one who ordered them to fight and kill. You can’t take responsibility for other people’s actions.” Then Harry broke their gaze, this time he was the one looking down at the table where he was digging his nail into the wood. “I get it though, I’m still learning that too.” he mumbled, but it was loud enough for Draco to hear. For some reason Harry’s words brought a small smile to Draco’s face.

“Damn right you are.” Weasley said gruffly. “But I guess that’s true, if I’m gonna sit here and tell Harry it’s not all his fault for what happened, I can’t also sit here and blame you for all of it either.” Then he quirked a grin, “I’m still gonna think you’re a poncey prat until you show me otherwise, though.”

Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter, “I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that,” he said and it stung until he continued with, “I mean, I don’t think you can take the Ponce out of Draco Malfoy.” and then flashed Draco a toothy grin, like he thought he was being clever.

“You complete ass,” Draco said, but he was laughing too, and he shoved Harry’s shoulder hard enough he fell over a bit onto the table.

“All right, all right, how about we eat now?” Hermione suggested and reached for one of the dishes and started spooning some steaming green beans onto her plate. That broke the spell and all of them started serving themselves food and passing each other dishes.

“You mother actually made all this food? And just for us?” Draco asked while he took a slice of the roasted chicken that Weasley passed him.

“Yeah, she likes cooking. And with feeding all of us she’s used to making big meals,” Weasley said with a shrug, but then pinned Draco down with a hard stare, daring him to say anything snide about it.

There wasn’t anything for him to say, he was honestly just surprised that she could cook so well, and that she would make all the effort to cook so much food, but then not partake in any of it. It was different with house elves, that’s what they were for, but for a witch to go through the effort of cooking just to cook was a little baffling for Draco.

Dinner turned out to be quite a nice affair, and while Draco was still finding it hard to accept how easily the Weasleys seemed to have decided to give him another chance, like many things that kept happening since the war ended, Draco wasn’t going to question the good. He worried that perhaps Harry had told them about his panic attacks and so now they were kinder to him in hopes of seeing him fail so they could laugh at him. But then they seemed pretty genuinely interested in moving on instead of replenishing old rivalries, and Draco was certainly on the same page.

He was still having trouble with not judging them for being so poor, and he found himself holding his tongue multiple times as the evening progressed. It was because of his sessions with Marisol that he started to see past the value of monetary wealth, of course he was wealthy, but she spoke with him about what it meant to be different kinds of rich. Rich in happiness, rich in security, rich in love. And if the feast that Molly Weasley had prepared for them, simply because she cared about her children and their friends, was anything to go by it looked like he had always overlooked how rich the Weasley family was in love for each other.

It made him miss his own mother fiercely. But she was travelling and her last letter, that had come in earlier that morning, said she was heading off to Thailand for a while. Draco would never begrudge her taking the time she needed to heal in her own way, and he had encouraged her to travel in the first place, but he did find himself missing the balm her presence was for his mind.

Even though he missed her dearly, he wasn’t without others who helped him stay on his track toward recovery. Blaise decided to help out with rebuilding the castle and they met numerous times for lunches, though every time Draco saw him he would leave wondering why he stayed friends with someone who would mercilessly tease him about his feelings for Harry. And then Blaise would say something that helped ease the anxious chattering that still would rise up in Draco’s mind and he’d remember, and be glad for their friendship.

But like before when he didn’t even have to do anything to help Draco, it was Harry popping up during the day to help out with the final touches for the school, and Harry inviting him out for meals that had Draco looking forward to his days. It was Harry who he wanted to go out exploring with, and it was Harry who he invited to come back to Grearthon to try to reorganize the library--though Harry insisted he get Granger over to give him some pointers. After seeing the spellwork she’d done to her bag, he was inclined to agree.

The two weeks before term started went by quickly, while the classrooms they had been working on were finished, there was still a flurry of things to make sure were prepared before temporary Hogwarts could accept the incoming students. And then suddenly it was September first and everything they had been hurrying to finish, and working toward, came to a head as the students arrived on the scarlet train.

Seeing the Hogwarts express running, the smoke billowing up to the sky in fluffy puffs, filled Draco with a wave of aching nostalgia. He knew this would be another weird, off year for Hogwarts as an institution, but he could only hope that those students who elected to return for this temporary arrangement would have a year worth remembering.

Draco watched from up the hill as the students filed off the train and Hagrid escorted them over to the buildings they were using in place of the Great Hall. He had no reason to be there that day, he wouldn’t be starting work on Hogwarts castle until the next day, and he had nothing to do to help prepare for today. But he wanted to be there to see the students come in, no, Draco needed to see them and see this one great thing that he had nearly ruined start to work again. There was still a ways to go, but for now it was nice to see a sense of normalcy return.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco had known that there was much work to be done on Hogwarts’ castle, but even though he had been working in Hogsemeade for a few weeks, Draco still had not returned to the school’s grounds. Now that he was making the trek up from Hogsemeade in order to get started on repairs, he found himself apprehensive about finally getting a look at the destruction to the school. 

He wasn't sure he was ready to see the breadth of the destruction he had a hand in causing. Marisol had told him in their last session to go easy on himself when he started on the restoration of the school, and that if he felt too overwhelmed to excuse himself and go for a walk to help clear his head. She had also said to keep his safe mental place at the forefront of his mind, so if he felt himself slipping into panic he could retreat to it to help lessen the panic from overcoming him. Draco had felt sure he would be fine, that he could handle going back to Hogwarts, at least he had been while in the safety of her office. Now though, he wasn’t so sure.

The group that volunteered to help with the castle was to meet at the main doors at eleven this morning. Draco had arrived half an hour early to give himself time to get acclimated to the way the castle looked now. He had even apparated farther from the castle than McGonagall had recommended to avoid any interference with the fallen wards on the grounds, just to give himself space as well.

He was nearing the crest of the hill that would give him a clear view of the castle, and Draco found his steps hesitating as he got closer. Was he really ready to do this? Did he even have a right to be here? _What was he doing?_

Draco's breathing had sped up, and he had to still his forward momentum to force his breathing back down to normal. Just before he would have reached the top of the hill, he stopped and flexed his hands into fists and out of them as he took in one deep breath after another. He could do this. He could. He needed to keep going. He needed to prove to himself that he was strong enough to do this.

Something made a rustling sound behind him, and Draco quickly turned around to see what was trying to sneak up on him. He was surprised to see Granger making her way up the hill, alone.

“Malfoy!” She said, sounding just as startled to see him as he was her. She reached him and stopped next to him, looking around, “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.

“Ah,” Draco shook his head, “No, just taking my time.”

Granger gave him an odd look then and then shrugged, “Well, shall we go on then?” she asked and nodded toward the top of the hill.

Draco hesitated for another moment before he nodded and fell into step with her. There was no reason not to continue on to the castle in her company. Or at least, not any he really wanted to reveal to her. He didn’t know what to say as they continued up the hill and finally reached its crest, and then all thoughts of speaking flew straight out of his mind when he fully took in the ruin that Hogwarts was now.

Granger sucked in a loud breath next to him when she took in how damaged the castle was. After a moment she turned to him and said, “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Draco nodded.

It really was.

Hogwarts was his second home for so long, and to see it like it was now--walls crumbling, entire towers destroyed, and piles of rubble, it made his throat tighten up. This was too much. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t ready. Draco took a step back, needing to get away from Hogwarts. How could he face this destruction? How could he go in every day and work in it to repair the castle, when just seeing it put him on the edge of an attack?

Granger, meanwhile, had thrown her shoulders back and started forward toward the castle again. She must have realized she could not hear his steps follow her, as she stopped abruptly and turned around to give Draco a curious look and saying, “Malfoy?”

He couldn’t just turn around and leave, not now, not with Granger standing there staring at him like she expected him to disappoint her at all times. But he wasn’t sure he could keep walking toward Hogwarts. Granger was watching him keenly, and Draco was pretty sure it wasn’t worry pulling at her eyes, but irritation. The rock Harry had given him was in his pocket, and Draco wrapped his hand around it now, soothed by the steady beat as he pushed his shoulders back--he wasn’t sure he was up for what he needed to do, but he _needed to do it_. And maybe one of these days, he’d stop feeling like he was disappointing everyone around him.

“Let’s go fix the castle,” Draco said, coming up to meet Granger, his voice coming out steadier than he currently felt.

Granger nodded and kept up his pace, but he did not miss the smile that tugged at her lips as they made their way up to the ruined castle.

  
  


McGonagall met the volunteers at the ruins of the main doors, now it was a gaping open maw in the castle as the doors had been blasted off. She stood there, tall and assured, as she watched the volunteers arrive and gather. Draco saw a few familiar faces of other students he had shared the halls with, but he saw no Slytherins from his year and he could not help feeling coldly disappointed in them. Granger spotted others she knew and, for a minute he was sure she would go off to greet them, but instead she waved them over and suddenly he was swarmed with Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, all eager to help put the castle to rights.

Then a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and when Draco turned, annoyed at whomever it was that dared touch him, he was face-to-face with Blaise and his heart turned over in joy. “Blaise,” he said in an exalted breath, it was good to know he wouldn’t be the only snake here.

“Didn’t want you to be the only one here having fun,” Blaise said and slung an arm around Draco’s shoulder as he looked at the others around them. “You’ve made some new friends,” he remarked, sounding surprised.

Draco let out a huff of breath and shrugged off Blaise’s arm. “Stop kidding around,” he said and nodded up to where McGonagall looked like she was ready to start talking.

 

“Thank you all for coming,” McGonagall’s voice carried over the crowd, and though Draco had seen her smile a few times when he met with her, it was still strange to see it on her face as she smiled down at the crowd. “It is both sadness and joy that I welcome you back to Hogwarts. While I do wish it was under better circumstances, I am grateful for all of you lending your time and expertise to help us bring Hogwarts back to her former glory.”

The crowd erupted in applause and someone shouted, “Of course Professor McGonagall!” And then the cheering erupted even louder.

“Yes, well, thank you.” McGonagall said primly. “Now, there are many of you here, and we have a lot of work to do. Since many of you were my students I have already broken you up into groups based on your strengths, so please listen carefully for your assigned areas.” She then unrolled a long scroll and started reading off groups of names, giving them assignments like the exterior face, restoring the great hall, and rebuilding the interior around the castle. Draco was only a little surprised when she read out his name along with Granger’s to help with helping to charm the staircases while they rebuilt them. They had made a pretty good team making the classrooms in Hogsmeade, he was only surprised not to hear Goldstein’s name--until he remembered Goldstein mentioning that he would enroll for the eighth year.

The remainder of their group consisted of Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and few more students from the years above theirs, along with a couple of parents as well. Draco stepped closer to Granger and joined her in meeting the rest of their group by the stairs leading into the castle.

Granger went over to speak with McGonagall for a minute and returned carrying a stack of parchments the headmistress bestowed upon her. She was grinning when she came back to their little group.

"All right everyone! Hello! I'm Hermione Granger, for those of you I've not met before, and I have the schematics for how to restore both the staircases and the charms that were on them." She said, holding up the stack. "I think we should group near the first one inside and work out how to break ourselves up so we can tackle this the most efficient way."

Which was how, after they had all worked out the details, Draco found himself paired with Granger on working on the staircases on the upper floors. Getting up there was tricky, but Draco quickly ran off to the broomshed and nicked the most reliable looking brooms left so they could fly up where they were needed.

After working next to Granger on the classrooms, he had come to find a kind of comforting familiarity by her single-mindedness and determination to get the job done. Since it seemed she had done the most work for pairing everyone up, Draco found it amusing that she'd chosen to pair with him.

He was about to ask her why when she spoke, without turning her attention from setting the stones of the stairs back into place. “Have you heard from Harry recently?” she asked.

"Hmm?" Draco was momentarily distracted by a stubborn stone. "Oh, yes. A few days ago I received an owl from him about the auror training he and Weasley are doing."

"Really?" Granger sounded so surprised Draco turned to look at her fully. Her brow was furrowed like he was a difficult puzzle she was trying to solve. “He’s still writing to you, even though you’re both here?” she asked, peering at him.

“Yes,” Draco said, feeling defensive. Should he not be? Was there something wrong about them continuing to write letters? Though, he supposed, it could just be because Harry was writing to _him_ that made all the difference. And why should they not be in contact? Were they not friendly now? Draco had a jealous thought that Granger just wanted to keep Harry to herself, and that same greedy part of him sympathized. The more he got to know _Harry_ over _Potter_ , the more he wanted to know and keep to himself.

Harry expressed his own hesitant doubts about how right he was for the position of an auror in his letters. Draco could tell a little better now how Harry was feeling by the differences in how his letters slanted when he wrote.

Sometimes they’d meet for lunch, or coffee, or Harry would appear in his floo near dinner time and Draco couldn’t turn him away. Harry had a way of commanding the energy in the room around him effortlessly. He would slowly creep in closer to Draco’s space, like he craved the warmth of someone who cared for him, but did not think he was allowed the closeness. Draco was completely charmed by how much he learned about Harry just through the small touches he made to Draco’s wrists when talking, or the way he’d grab Draco’s arm to steer him somewhere.

He also couldn’t help the hope that burned low in his heart that his feelings could be returned, hope that he tried to put out, but the effort seemed futile the more time he spent with Harry.

Especially when he woke up in the middle of the night one night from a nightmare, and blindly found his way down to the kitchen for something warm and soothing to drink, and found that his mother had come home and apparently invited Harry over. The two of them were sitting in low chairs around the worn table in the kitchen, giggling, and clutching mugs overflowing with marshmallows.  Draco had staggered into the kitchen then, sure he was still asleep, until Narcissa turned to him with a concerned look and invited him to join them.

 

Now though, Granger was still looking at him like she was trying to puzzle him out. then she finally said, “Do you know if he likes it?” her voice sounding much more uncertain than Draco was sure she had intended.

He was surprised by the question, surely Harry would tell his best friends more about his experience in training than he told Draco? Especially since Weasley was training right beside him. But then Draco thought on the doubts that Harry expressed in his letters, and in the quiet darkness in the late hours in the kitchen, and he realized that perhaps Harry felt he could say these things to Draco since he’d already seen Draco’s biggest weakness right now.

Knowing something about Harry that _Granger_ did not, made Draco feel warm and pleased and he had to bite back the smile that threatened to grow when he answered her. “He said it’s not quite what he thought,” Draco said with a small frown. “He’s not talking to you and Weasley about it?”

Granger ran her fingers along the stone of the steps in an absent-minded motion as she lost herself in thought. “It’s not that, not really,” she said, in a hushed tone, like if she spoke quietly enough she could pretend they weren’t having this conversation, that she wasn’t sharing these parts of her friend with someone she was not sure she could trust. “Harry doesn’t like for anyone to worry about him. I’m afraid that he might think if he doesn’t keep doing what’s expected that--” she swallowed hard, interrupting herself, and finally looked up at Draco and he was caught by how lost and worried she seemed.

“He thinks you’ll abandon him,” Draco finished, keeping his voice low and quiet like hers. Not because he felt illicit, speaking of Harry like this with her--he did a bit, but he also felt that she would not keep talking to him if he spoke at a normal volume. And this was a conversation he was terribly curious about. To think that Harry would believe his friends would leave him if he stopped doing what was expected was just saddening. That Harry would feel so insecure about how even his own closests friends felt about him stuck a chord in Draco’s heart.

Granger nodded sadly in agreement. “Yes, and I think he’s not worried about that with you because well, because you’ve never held him in high esteem for him to disappoint you,” she said with an awkward shrug.

Draco had to bite back the laugh that wanted to burst out at that. He had always held Harry in too high esteem, it had always been his weakness--caring too much about what Harry thought of him. But that wasn’t what Granger wanted, or needed, to hear anyway. Instead he settled on saying, “I suppose.”

She quirked a smile at him then, “All right, so I’m wrong there.” She said and gave him a look like they were sharing a joke together, and Draco was stunned. Somehow he’d reached the point where she felt comfortable enough around him to speak about her best friend and now she was teasing him. “But I know there’s something between the two of you that he thinks of as different than how he feels about the rest of us, or else he wouldn’t have said anything to you either.” Granger sighed then and sat down heavily on the half reconstructed staircase. “I just wish he realized he could talk to us,” and then much quieter, “That he can talk to me about anything.”

Draco hesitated for a moment, standing before her facing the stairs, unsure of what he should do. Then he thought of Marisol telling him about the capacity everyone has for empathy, and that should he open up to it, it isn’t a bad thing to care about others. So he sat down on the stair next to Granger, close enough their shoulder brushed, but he did not try to touch her. "I don't think it's that," he said after a few moments of just quiet between them.

Then he let out a breath, not sure if he really wanted to talk about this with Granger. But even though he had never been good at sharing, and each bit of Harry that he was given he wanted to horde to himself-- Draco knew that if he really wanted to continue to know Harry that he would need to make nice with Harry's friends.

"I think it has more to do with the fact that he's seen me weak," Draco swallowed and started to play with the cuffs of his sleeves. "That he knows I'm seeing a therapist so maybe he feels he can talk about these things with me."

Granger stiffened next to him and turned to look at him in surprise. "You are?" she asked in the hushed tone she'd been using before.

"Yeah, I get panicked now," he couldn't help the self detrimental laugh from escaping. But he figured he may as well let her know anyway. What with working in Hogwarts, he knew he was tempting fate.

"Oh," she said and shifted so her shoulder pressed against his. "I have nightmares, often," she was looking down at her shoes now.

Draco was struck suddenly by how damaged they all were now. Even the Golden Trio couldn't come out of the war unscathed. "Look at us," he said with a lighter laugh than the one before. "What a pair we are."

"Yeah," Granger said with a small laugh of her own. "Scarred children who were too young for our war." She shook her head and turned to face him now. "Do you really think that's it? That Harry's all right talking to you because he can see your scars now?"

"It seems plausible," Draco said with a small shrug. He honestly couldn't say why Harry would tell him anything he had not told his best friends already.

Granger nodded as though he'd given her a real answer and then stood. "Well, I can't do much about it now. We should at least be able to finish one staircase today. Don't you think?"

Draco stood, wiping the staircase dust off the seat of his trousers. "One and a half, I bet," he said with a smirk.

 

They were able to complete almost half of the staircases by the end of the first week. Granger had divvied up the volunteers well, since they all worked so efficiently together. It was impressive seeing the school slowly coming together, the outer walls were starting to stand tall and proud. Now the halls were clear of debris and it was starting to look like the school he remembered. Though the stones were newer, and the portraits were not back up, walking through the halls elicited a feeling of nostalgia in Draco, and he was glad for not participating in the eighth year, since there was far more than enough that had changed, and being in school, but not being in Hogwarts, wasn’t something he thought he could stand.

Instead, he found the odd tentative bridge that had developed between Granger and him getting stronger the longer they worked together. The more he got to know her better, even if they tended to shy from having as candid conversations as the one they'd had on the stairs that day, Draco found himself learning a lot about her. It made him feel even more ashamed for the vitriol he'd spewed at her all through school. He could tell that she was still distrustful of him, and he couldn't begrudge her for being so since he'd always been horrible to her--but he felt something loosening in his chest, a combination of gratitude and relief, that she was open to trying with him.

Even more, how she seemed to be genuinely curious about his friendship with Harry, but also appeared to encourage it as well.  And for that, her quiet approval,  he was endlessly grateful. For he knew that had his friends loudly disapproved of him associating with Draco, Harry would have shied away from him once more. So having one of Harry's closest friends slowly eeking her way into being one of Draco's friends meant a lot to him.

 

They were quickly making their way up and around the castle, repairing and restoring the enchanted staircases. Draco knew it was coming, but that still didn’t mean he was really prepared to deal with the reality of just being on the seventh floor. The entire time he and Granger were working on the staircase leading up from the hall near the room, Draco swore he could feel the roaring of the fire right at his back and kept turning around just to double check it wasn’t there, lurking, waiting to swallow him up again.

Granger noticed his distraction, and he was honestly surprised by how long she held her tongue on her curiosity. “What’s wrong, Malfoy?” she asked, craning her neck to look behind him after he had just done so for the dozenth time.

“Nothing,” he said just able to suppress the urge to look behind himself once more.

“Nothing. Really?” Granger asked dryly and raised an eyebrow.

Draco sighed and lowered his wand. “Yeah,” he said, not sure what else to say right then. He could hardly stand being where the were. If he told her what he was afraid of, she might force him go down to face it.

He looked back down the hallway again and thought, maybe it was time to face it anyway, maybe he was underestimating himself and he was ready. Maybe he’d come far enough to be able to handle it now.

“I just need to go see something,” he said and started going down the hall.

“Mafloy?” Granger called behind him, her shoes clacking on the stones as she followed him down the hall. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t have to come with, Granger,” he said and quickened his pace, feeling assured that he could do this. He could face his biggest fear, he could do it.

Granger quickly fell into step with him saying, “Oh like I’m not going to follow you while you beg off from work. What’s so important for you to look at instead of finishing the stairs anyway? We’re nearly done now.”

“I’m not buggering off, we’ll finish in a minute, I just want to go see something.” He turned a corner and knew immediately he was in the right place, it reeked of sulfur and smoke and made his eyes sting.

“Oh,” Granger said when she rounded the corner behind him.

Oh was right. The wall where the door would appear was burned completely black and bulging out, like something had exploded within. Draco could feel the fire that was trapped within the walls clawing at his brain, calling for him, and he had a moment to think oh no, before he had to start breathing like Marisol taught him to keep the fire at bay.

Draco fell to the floor, his knees cracking on the harsh stone before his palms hit the ground as well. He hunched over himself, panting as he thought of the safe place in his mind, the nice open field--but the fire came in there too and burned it all to cinders and he couldn’t. _He couldn’t._

He lost control of his breathing as he body began to shake all over. The fire was consuming him, he could feel it singeing his skin. Draco tried digging his fingers into the stone floor to remind himself that he was here and there was no fire around him, but he could smell the sulfur and the smoke and he was lost.

_He was lost._

Blackness took over his mind and he was consumed by the flames.

But no, he could feel something cool pressing against his cheek and someone saying, “Malfoy! Malfoy! Draco, wake up!” Their voice was far away and fading and Draco tried to latch on and follow the sound out of the darkness but then he was falling again.

 

Then, a stronger voice saying, “Draco, _Draco take my hand_ ,” and Draco was suddenly aware that he even _had_ hands again as one was grasped and held by a warm hand. Draco knew this hand, like he knew this voice and he squeezed the hand back and blinked until shapes became blurry in his vision. Then some more until they solidified into Harry leaning over him, glasses askew and face a mask of concern. He could see Granger hovering over Harry’s shoulder looking worried.

“Oh,” Draco breathed and tried to sit up while also trying to figure out where the hell Harry had come from. Harry reached out with his other hand to help Draco sit up, but kept it firm on Draco’s shoulder when he tried to get up any further.

“Just take it easy, okay? Hermione thinks you might have hit your head on the stones.” Harry said, voice low and soothing like a balm to Draco’s turbulent mind.

“Oh,” was all Draco could think to say as he reached up to prod at his head, he couldn’t tell if he’d knocked it on the floor. His head felt like it was splitting apart anyway after having a panic attack, he couldn’t figure out if there was any point of pain that was worse than the rest. Then his fingers brushed against a spot that sent a shock of cold pain through his head and made him gasp.

“Looks like she was right,” Harry said with a small easy grin, still kneeling in front of Draco, hovering in his space like he was afraid if he backed off Draco might fly apart again.

Granger started rummaging in her back behind him, but Draco was only dimly aware of her movements. His focus was drawn almost entirely to Harry.

“How did you get here?” he asked, his voice gravelly and ruined like it tended to be after a panic attack.

Harry was watching him carefully, but he quirked another grin now. “Ron and I came by to see if you guys wanted some lunch.” Then he leaned in closer and said quietly, “But he got a little side-tracked talking to Parvati about Lavender.” Harry tilted his head to the side in such a way that Draco lost his breath, they were so close they could be kissing and it made a wave of longing crash violently through Draco. He shifted back incrementally to get some breathing room while Harry said, “I’m glad I came up to find you though. What were you doing coming up here?”

“Here,” Granger said from behind Harry and pressed a small bottle against his arm. “It’ll help with the pain from hitting your head, Draco,” she said while looking him in the eye.

Draco blinked at her stupidly for a minute. She’d just called him by his first name. Granger regarded him well enough to want to call him by his given name. The elation that overcame him made him feel giddy, like he could take on anything. He knew that trying to form any kind of friendship would be difficult, both for him to stop thinking the way he had learned to, and for her to forgive him--but he had craved it after seeing just how clever and determined she was, it was rare for Draco to find someone who could keep up with him when talking arithmancy theory. Then there was the added bonus that it would please Harry to see them getting on.

And now she’d used his name, and he felt like maybe it wasn’t so bad her having seen him in this most vulnerable state. It almost made him hate himself a little less for foolishly thinking he was ready to handle seeing the Room of Hidden Things.

Harry took the bottle from Hermione and looked up at her briefly, then he was pressing it to Draco’s lips, like Draco couldn’t hold it himself, or, Draco thought with a warm shiver traveling down his spine, like it didn’t even occur to Harry not to care for Draco. He swallowed down the potion and immediately felt the pain in his head clearing away.

Draco looked up at Hermione gratefully and said, "Thank you." He still felt a little amazed at the spell work she must have on that bag, there seemed to be no end to her supplies.

“It’s really no problem. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” she said as she toyed with the string on her bag.

“Not your fault,” Draco said, feeling warm and buoyant being surrounded by their care as he was. “You didn’t know.”

Harry was still watching him intently, and he didn’t take his eyes off Draco even when he said to Hermione, “Hey, why don’t you go try to catch up with Ron? We can meet you guys over by the Great Hall in a bit, okay?” Finally, he turned to her to give her a smile that she hesitantly returned.

“Okay,” she said after a moment of trying to analyze both of them with her eyes. “We’ll see you in a bit then.” Then she turned and started down the hall.

Draco watched her go for a moment, until Harry squeezed the hand he still had on Draco's shoulder. "So what were you doing up here?" Harry asked, his eyes wide and imploring as he leaned further into Draco’s space, and Draco had thought there wasn’t any more space between them before.

He scooted back until his back hit the wall and brought his knees up to his chest, hugging himself tightly, unable to look at Harry’s earnest expression while he revealed his shame. And he was ashamed. He’d been so full of himself to think he was ready to face the fire. “I thought I could face it,” he said quietly, to his knees. It was quiet enough up in this corridor that he knew Harry would hear him regardless.

It seemed he was right, as Harry quickly shuffled over and sat down against the wall right next to Draco, his presence a line of heat at Draco’s left. He didn’t need to look up to know that Harry was near unbearably close again, but Draco couldn’t bring it in himself to want to move away again. Being so near Harry’s earnestness, and his heat like a mobile furnace, it was addicting. Harry made Draco feel safe, and he couldn’t bring himself to want to leave the safeness.

Harry picked up Draco’s hand from where he was white-knuckled grasping his knees and wrapped his own calloused hands around it. “I think you were very brave, Draco.” His words were quiet and nearly swallowed by the acoustics in the corridor, but since he spoke so close to Draco’s ear, Draco heard them clearly and they sent a shiver down his spine.

“I was foolish,” he refuted, knowing it was true and Harry’s warmth and his kind words meant well, but the truth was Draco had tried to push himself too far--and now he was worried he might backslide because of it.

Harry laughed beside him and squeezed his hand, “I’ve found that, often, the two go hand in hand.”

Draco finally lifted his head from his knees to look incredulously over at Harry. When he was met with an entirely serious expression on Harry’s part, a laugh burst right out of him. “You would be the expert on that, wouldn’t you?” he asked and couldn’t help squeezing Harry’s hand back.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed solemnly, “None know better, of course.” He nodded and turned his lips up in a teasing smile that made Draco feel oddly giddy.

Then Harry’s expression turned serious again and he said, “We should probably talk about it,” nodding toward the blackened wall, and Draco felt his gut clench in fear.

“Yeah,” he agreed, already breathless. But Harry was right, they should talk about it, Draco just wasn’t sure he could do that right now.

“But, we really did come here to take you two to lunch, so I think it’s best if we put a hold on that conversation. What about you?” Harry asked and stood, still holding Draco’s hand.

Draco felt lighter from Harry’s words, it could wait. It was something horrible and twisting inside of him, but it wasn’t crushing him anymore, and the panicked fear that had just overcome him was under control again for now--so it could wait. And knowing that made him feel just a little freer. “Sounds like a plan,” he said and let Harry pull him to his feet, stepping purposefully into Harry’s space when he stood, just because he could. Just because of the way Harry’s eyes widened a little and small spots of color bloomed on his cheeks.

Draco felt like maybe he couldn’t conquer the world, but like he could fly without a broom, and he wanted to take Harry with him. So he stepped back out of Harry’s space and led them down the safest route toward the Great Hall--they had a lunch date and Draco felt giddy with that knowledge.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Six months later, and Draco felt like he was recovering well. He still panicked if he felt like he was in a situation he could not escape from, and he still felt like he was afraid too much of the time and it irked him immensely. But, at the same time, he knew that he was getting better. It was like Marisol had said, it would take time. There were days it was hard to feel like he’d gotten anywhere, but then he’d wrap his hand around the stone Harry gave him and remember that he’d come pretty far from where he had been before.

It felt like there was still so far to go though, that sometimes, sometimes he just couldn’t see the point in trying so hard all the time.

Then days would come that would remind him, it wasn’t all about him. Even his recovery, it wasn’t all about him.

He took in a shaking breath and stepped over the threshold, feeling the reinstated wards, weaker than a fidelus but still able to keep the house from prying eyes and unwanted guests. The breath came out far more relieved when he was able to pass through without incident. He wasn’t sure if he would be refused when he had decided to come over, but he figured it was time.

 

While Draco was on the slow road to recovery, it seemed Harry was having trouble. He had seemed fine, he was his usual exuberant self before, but then as he had continued through auror training with Ron he’d become much quieter and reserved. They had been coming to the castle regularly for a while to see the progress and help where they could, and then Harry came less and less, until finally this week it was just Ron coming for lunches with Hermione and Draco and a few other volunteers. And as much as Draco enjoyed how much his relationship had changed with the two of them, he couldn’t help worrying about this change in Harry. There was a dark cloud over their lunches all week, with Ron seeming distracted and perturbed, and Hermione somehow slipped food between her pursed lips, pressed firmly together in her worry.

By Friday, Draco could hardly keep anything down. Harry had closed his floo and all letters went unanswered. He was working in another part of the school from Hermione at this point, but he purposefully went and found her, pulling her into classroom they currently weren’t restoring.

“Have you heard from Harry?” he asked urgently, once he’d fastened the door behind them.

Hermione stepped further into the room, her shoulders rounded under the weight of her large hair and her anxiety, then she turned to him, her eyes sad and fearful. “No,” she said in a low voice. “And I don’t want to impose upon him, but I’m worried--” she shook her head and looked away, her attention catching on the windows on the far wall that used to be enchanted but now just looked like empty frames on the bare stone walls. “I can’t lose him again,” she whispered, almost quietly enough so Draco couldn’t hear.

It felt like Draco had swallowed a freezing serum, his insides turned to ice so quickly. He had been worried, but he felt he probably worried more than most people these days. To hear that Hermione was this worried about Harry had Draco’s heart racing, and he felt hot and cold all over. “He shouldn’t be alone,” Draco said, feeling like he was just talking to say words, when all he really wanted to do was make his way over to Grimmauld to make sure that Harry was still all in one piece.

Hermione’s attention snapped over to him and she gazed at him for a long moment, one in which he knew she was judging him. But for the first time since they'd met, he felt like he didn’t come up wanting in her eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly, “It’s probably best if someone goes to check on him. But, I don’t want him to feel like we think he’s incapable of taking care of himself.” And now her worried eyes were back, and for a flash of a moment Draco could see her, older, worried over children. He blinked, and it was just them again, with Hermione looking at Draco like he had the answers she couldn’t find, which was a bit worrying in and of itself, since she always seemed assured that she could find the answers if she looked enough.. “You could go,” she said, looking like she was piecing together a puzzle.

Draco took a step back in surprise. He might feel like he needed to go to check on Harry, for his own sake, but he highly doubted Harry would want to see him if he already closed out his closest friends. “Me?” he asked, his voice coming out higher than he’d like.

“Yes,” Hermione said, “You’ve become much closer to him recently, and with what you’re doing with your therapist I think you might just be the person he needs to see.” Her words sounded more sure as she kept talking, and Draco couldn’t help but believe her. Mainly, because he desperately wanted her to be right, that he could help Harry now after Harry had already helped him so much.

“Do you really think so?” Draco asked, needing more reassurance. He didn’t want to go barging in where he wasn’t wanted and muck up the tenuous friendship that he had with Harry now.

Hermione stepped closer and put a hand on his arm smiling, “You’ve changed, Draco, and I think out of all of us, that you might know the most about these kinds of things.” Draco understood immediately how much it must have taken for her to admit such a thing.

He covered her hand with his own and said, “Thank you,” the words echoing around the empty room they were in. Then he looked up into her eyes once again, drawing up his courage. “I’ll see if he’s at Grimmauld.”

Hermione squeezed his hand and let out a noisy exhale, “Let me know how he is, and if I can help, okay?”

Draco nodded, and gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile before he headed out of the castle and off to London. It was his turn to help Harry.

It was his turn now.

 

Draco stepped over the threshold to 12 Grimmauld Place, feeling the strength of Harry’s new wards settle around him. Grimmauld looked no different, just as dark and unwelcoming as always. Draco made his way up to the front door, feeling a cloud of trepidation take him over and slow his movements. _What was he even doing?_  His hand hesitated as he reached out to ring the bell he wasn’t even sure worked. _What if intruding like this made Harry hate him all over again?_  He knew he couldn’t take it if that happened. After being gifted the time to get to know Harry, and getting to see what his life could be like as Harry’s friend--Draco knew he wouldn’t be all right if he lost that.

But, he had to swallow his fear and press the doorbell. If he could help Harry now, even though he wasn’t sure what had happened for Harry to close himself off like this, but if Draco could help him, he would. Even if it meant that afterward Harry hated him all over again. At least then he could feel more like they were on equal ground.

Pressing the button didn’t seem to do anything, he couldn’t hear anything inside the house. Just when he figured he should probably knock instead, the door swung open to a dark hall inside. Draco looked down and saw an older house elf holding the door open. The elderly creature bowed low to him.

“The young Master Malfoy,” the house elf said, his nose nearly brushing the ground.

Draco could not remember the elf’s name, though he was nearly sure Harry had told him a few times. “Is Harry home?” he asked, drawing back on his past self’s brusque attitude.

The elf stood and looked worried for a moment and then stepped aside for let Draco in. He only spoke again once the door was closed, and now he spoke in a whisper, “Master Harry is home. Master Harry will not eat, Kreacher makes his favorites and he does not eat. Has Master Draco come to help the Master?”

Kreacher was the elf’s name, Draco felt slightly relieved it turned out he hadn’t needed to remember it afterall. He was far more worried over hearing that Harry had not been eating, than he was relieved over learning the elf’s name. “Where is he?” Draco asked, already heading for the stairs, figuring Harry would likely be in one of the rooms upstairs.

“He is in his room,” Kreacher said, still in whisper.

Draco nodded to the elf and took the stairs by twos on the way up.

He had been over quite a few times in the past months, over for dinners with Harry and the others, and sometimes he’d see if Harry was busy and would come over to just hang out--he worried sometimes he was imposing, but Harry always seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Now though, in this silent and dark house, Draco wondered how much of Harry’s genuine pleasure and happiness really were genuine, or if they had always been a way for him to hide himself.

The door to Harry’s bedroom was closed, which didn’t surprise Draco, but it did make him even more apprehensive about Harry’s state beyond the door. He slowly shuffled over to the door, and just listened for a moment, but he could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing. Finally he rapped his knuckles against the door calling out, “Harry, Harry are you in there?”

A rustling sound from inside the room and then a gruff voice that sounded almost unrecognizable as Harry called out, “What are you doing here?”

Draco swallowed, feeling like his throat was full of ash all of the sudden. Then he cleared his throat and said in a quiet voice, “I’ve come to help.”

There was no response from within, so Draco took in a deep breath and took hold of the door handle. It was unlocked. Draco turned the handle and pushed open the door. Like the rest of the house, Harry’s room was dark. The air inside smelled stale, and it made Draco recoil a little before he stepped into the dim room.

“Harry?” He said in a harsh whisper as he took in the disarray of the room.

His attention was drawn to the bed when he heard Harry say, “Draco?” with surprise coloring his tone. Harry was huddled on the bed, wound up in a large blanket so all Draco could see was his face, which was tired and drawn and looked splotchy either from sleep or from crying. Draco’s heart hurt just to look at him. Harry looked lost like a man at sea with no port in a storm, and all Draco wanted to do was sit on the bed with him and help soothe Harry’s turmoil. “What are you doing here?” Harry asked again, and from here Draco could hear how wrecked Harry’s voice was--he’d either been crying or screaming.

Draco approached the bed slowly and cautiously, like one would when dealing with a scared animal. “I’m here to help you, Harry,” he said, making his voice soft, but strong. He needed to make sure Harry understood both that Draco meant only good by being here, but that he was strong enough to hold Harry up, however he may need. And Draco was nearly sure he was. He needed to be, so he wasn’t giving himself a choice.

Harry apprehensively watched him approach, then he spoke, his words sounding like they’d gotten caught in his throat on the way out, “Why?”

“Because,” Draco started as he made his way over to the bed and sat down at the foot of it. “There’s something bothering you, Harry, and I want to help you out with it.”

Harry sucked in an audible breath, his eyes riveted to where Draco was now sitting, and Draco felt like perhaps he had overstepped Harry’s boundaries. But then Harry just wrapped the blankets more securely around himself and said quietly, “You don’t have to trouble yourself Draco, I can handle it. It’s okay. I know you have a lot on your shoulders already.” Then he ducked his head to further hide himself in his blanket cocoon.

“Harry,” Draco’s heart was breaking for Harry who looked wounded and aching, but still, still worried more about others than himself. Acting entirely on nerve, Draco toed off his shoes and made his way up the bed. “You’re no trouble Harry, you need to know that,” he said, voice rough. Then he sat himself next to Harry and reached out for the blanket Harry was hiding his face inside. He peeled the blanket back revealing Harry’s flushed face, and only then as Harry’s wide green eyes stared straight at him, did Draco realize he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Without the lenses as a buffer, Harry’s gaze was arresting, and Draco felt like he could drown in the green of Harry’s eyes. But by the way Harry’s eyes were wide, uncertain, and looking a  little scared, he was the one who needed a lifesaver thrown to him now. “Hey,” he said quietly with a small smile for Harry. “What are you doing in there?” he asked, hoping that he could get Harry to open up--he certainly needed to speak to someone.

“It’s warm,” Harry was watching Draco like he expected him to lash out, or rebuff him.

Draco just wanted to reach out and soothe such thoughts away, but he didn’t want to scare Harry either. He was surprised though, Harry always seemed like a furnace whenever he was around Draco, that he’d be seeking warmth wasn’t something Draco would have thought he needed. “Are you cold?” Draco asked and sat up against the headboard, keeping an eye on Harry who was slumped over in a heap next to him.

Harry shifted over to be a little closer to Draco, despite how hesitant he still looked. It seemed like part of him wanted Draco to be there, while the rest appeared guilty for needing him there at all. “I’m cold all the time,” Harry said after a long moment. “I just want to be warm.” He was looking at Draco in askance, but still held himself back, like he didn’t want to allow himself to need anyone.

“Oh, come here,” Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pulled him over, since he was so tangled in the blankets he toppled over and ended up pressed tight up against Draco’s side, mostly leaning on him. Harry let out a small exclamation of surprise, eyes wide on Draco, and with him pressed so close Draco could feel his body between the blankets, taut and coiled to push himself away. Draco held Harry loosely in his arms, feeling warmth pool in his gut at how nice it felt to hold Harry like this. He let his wand drop from his wrist holster and cast a warming charm over Harry, and said, “This should help.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed and closed his eyes in pleasure, “Thank you.” He wriggled his body to get closer to Draco, and then his eyes snapped open and an embarrassed flush stained his cheeks. “Sorry, sorry,” he stuttered out while trying to push himself away. It was too late though, he’d already fully charmed Draco.

The temptation to bury his fingers in Harry’s messy locks was almost too great for Draco to suppress, but he did his best and instead squeezed Harry’s shoulders, hoping that was reassuring enough. “Why are you hiding in here, Harry?” he asked, his voice low. Harry exhaled sharply through his nose and then buried his face in Draco’s side, mumbling something Draco could not understand. “What? he asked, trying to lean down closer to hear.

Harry pulled back enough so his words were audible when he said, “I should have gotten on the train,” he said, his voice hitching as he took in a rattling breath. “They all gave up so much for me, and I couldn’t even do that.” He wasn’t looking at Draco’s face, he had only moved his head enough so his mouth could move free of Draco’s sweater, and he was steadfastly avoiding Draco’s eyes.

Which was probably for the best, considering how Draco wasn’t able to mask the horror he felt at hearing Harry say he’d rather be dead. It was a while ago now that Harry had told him about dying, and they’d never spoken of it again, but Draco could not forget. He knew that it was fruitless to fear death, and yet, he could not stop, not yet, no matter how hard he tried. He was still afraid, and the thought that Harry had experienced death, and yet came back, did nothing to assuage his fears. It seemed to only compound them with an encompassing fear of losing those he cared about. Draco could not help the need to squeeze Harry a little tighter, and pull him a little closer, just to reassure himself that Harry was here, that Harry was _alive_. “Why would you want to stay there?” he asked, the words catching in his throat as he was unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Harry started to play with the blanket hem, still not looking at Draco when he answered after a long beat of silence. “It’s just not fair that I got to choose, when they didn’t.” Now he looked up at Draco, eyes wide and full of pain. “My parents were so _young_  when they died Draco, why do I get to keep living when their lives were cut so short?”

“They died so you could live though, Harry.” Draco felt at a loss for words, what could he say that would even be helpful?

“But, if I’d died that night then they could have lived. And Sirius. And Remus. And Fred. And Coin, and all the others, they all died because of me, Draco.” Harry’s words stumbled as his breath hitched, and Draco knew then that Harry’s face had been flushed and blotchy when he’d arrived because of crying, and knowing that made him feel like a part of his heart was shattering.

“Harry, no. There was a war on. Perhaps they might not have died when or how they did, but they might have still died, and many more, had things been different.” Harry still wasn’t looking at him, so Draco lifted his chin with a finger saying quietly but fiercely, “Harry look at me,” and when Harry’s unguarded eyes finally met his he continued with, “Their deaths were not your fault. You are not to blame. Voldemort is who you should place your blame with.”

Harry closed his eyes and a few tears spilled over when he did and Draco was only just able to stop himself from wiping them away with his thumb, he already felt like he was crossing a line of intimacy with Harry that he wasn’t fully prepared to deal with.

“I just miss them so much,” Harry spoke with his eyes still closed and turned his head out of Draco’s hand. “If I’d stayed then I wouldn’t miss them anymore,” he said desperately and curled away from Draco and back into his blankets.

“But _you’d_  be missed Harry,” Draco said, leaning over Harry’s huddled form to press his hand to Harry’s covered head. “Hermione would miss you, and Ron, and Ginny, and Luna, Neville, and all the Weasleys, and all the others.” His hand tightened as he swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I’d miss you, Harry.”

Harry shifted under his blankets and uncovered his face again, looking at Draco in surprise. “You would?” He sat up abruptly and since they were so close together Draco had to quickly back up so they wouldn’t knock heads. With a trembling hand Harry reached out and touched Draco’s face, “You’d really miss me?” he asked, an open hopeful expression on his face.

“Of course I would, you idiot.” Draco said, a smile tugging at his lips. He was pleased when he saw a small echo of one forming at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “So stop thinking you’d be better off if you’d taken the train out of that place and stayed dead Harry. You have so much more life to live,” Draco’s throat felt tight and he found it hard to get the words he wanted out. Just thinking of what could have been had Harry stayed dead--and thinking about all he would have missed out on by not getting to know Harry better--it made Draco feel like it would be better to become an emotionless void than be that upset. “So don’t think it Harry, don’t think you’d be better off not here, because you wouldn’t.” Draco said stubbornly around the rock in his throat and the tickling in his eyes. “And none of us would be better off if you hadn’t come back,” he finished, his voice rough and stray tears escaping his eyes. Draco hated himself for it, but only just.

The hand Harry still had on his face swiped his tears away and that small, quiet movement had Draco feeling like he was flying apart. “Hey, I’m here. I’m right here.” Harry said, his own voice thick and his eyes on Draco were full of an awed bewilderment.

“You better _stay_  here then,” Draco managed to say around his sticking throat, only just keeping himself from leaning too much into the hand Harry had on his face.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Harry took his hand away and pulled Draco into a tight hug. “I’m not, I promise. I’ll--I’ll try to stop thinking about it.”

Harry’s face was pressed tight against his shoulder and Draco put a hand in Harry’s hair, holding him there, keeping him close. “You’re allowed to think about it, Harry,” Draco spoke haltingly, trying to figure out the right words to get his point across. “It’s good to talk about these things though, so you don’t keep them bottled up, waiting to explode out.”

“I am talking about it,” Harry said, his huff of breath warm against Draco’s neck made his whole body tingle, “with you.”

Draco stroked his fingers through Harry’s hair as he spoke, “And that’s good, and you can talk to me about this. There are others you can talk to too if you wanted, like Ginny,” Draco’s breath caught for a moment, because they spoke of many things, but Harry never really mentioned where his feelings were now in regards to her. “Or Hermione, or Ron.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “Not them. Not--not yet anyway. They, I don’t want them to worry.”

Draco let out a surprised puff of air, wondering what that meant for how Harry thought of him then. “Well, if not them, then maybe someone like Marisol?”

“Oh.” Harry pulled back to look at Draco’s face, “Do you think I would be able to find someone like that who wouldn’t--wouldn’t think less of me for needing help because of who I am?”

“Harry, no, it’s their job to help. They won’t judge you for it.” Draco said, his hands sliding from Harry’s head to squeeze his shoulders. “No matter who you are,” he added fiercely, understanding a little why Harry would be so hesitant to go to a someone for help. Especially after seeing how the public still swarmed for him every time he went out.

Harry just shrugged, giving Draco a sad little smile, and said, “You’re braver than I am.”

“What?” Draco was pretty sure he had not heard right, how could Harry think that Draco was braver than him? He’d faced knowing he was walking to his death, nothing Draco had ever done could even reach that level of bravery.

“You are. I don’t think I could tell a stranger about my fears like you do with Marisol--” Harry screwed up his face for a second. “Well, I guess she’s not a stranger now, but still,” he shrugged. “I don’t think I could do that. Even just talking to you,” he let out a shaking breath and put his hands flat on Draco’s chest, almost like he would push him away, but instead he let his palms just rest on the soft fabric of Draco’s sweater. Harry looked up at Draco, worrying his lip for a moment before he continued with, “It’s hard.”

With Harry’s hands on his chest like that, Draco was sure Harry could feel how quickly his heart was racing, but Harry made no mention of it he just kept staring at Draco like he was trying to find the words he wanted.

“That’s okay,” Draco said quietly, “It’s hard for me to talk to Marisol still, sometimes.” Then he released Harry’s shoulders to take Harry’s hands in his, and was surprised by how ice-like they felt despite their proximity and the warming charm. He wondered if Harry had been cold like this before. “But if I’m the person you feel you can talk about this stuff with, I’m here to listen to you, Harry. I don’t--I don’t have answers, but I do know that talking can help, and I want to do that for you.”

Harry’s hands flexed in his grip and Harry gave him a small, shy smile. “I’ll try to remember that,” he said, his words a mere whisper between them.

It was the best he’d get, Draco could tell. He just hoped he could be enough to help Harry, at least until Harry felt like he could talk to more people about what he’d been through, and how he felt now. He returned Harry’s smile and squeezed his icy hands, saying, “You really are cold.”

“I told you,” Harry said flexing his hands in Draco’s. He shook his head, “I can’t seem to get warm in this place.”

“Why do you stay here then?” Draco asked, rubbing Harry’s hands between his.

Harry looked at him in confusion for a moment and said, “Sirius gave it to me, where else would I go?”  

Harry’s godfather. That was right, Draco looked up at the room around them, taking it in for the first time. It had aging posters on the walls and was cluttered in the corners with strange things he was sure were not Harry’s. “This is his old room isn’t it?” Draco asked, feeling a little sick that Harry would stay here, sleep in this room, when it was obvious that his Godfather’s death still hurt him so much. It was no wonder he was so haunted by the ghosts of the dead, practically living among them like this.

“Yeah,” Harry sounded wistful, like he thought that by being close to Sirius’s things he could bring the dead man back.

“Oh Harry,” Draco breathed and squeezed Harry’s hand in his. “Come with me to Grearthon, you shouldn’t be alone in this old, dark house.” This was definitely not a good place for Harry to be. Not after he had already expressed doubts about wanting to be alive at all, to be so surrounded by the relics of someone he cared about and still felt so guilty over their death--Draco found it little wonder Harry ended up closing himself off from everyone in his grief and depression. He was more impressed that Harry was still Harry, and still mostly functioning, just without a social life, under the weight of all the memories this house was bloated with.

Harry pulled away from Draco, giving him a look between affront and anger. “You want me to leave here? This is my home now, Draco. This is where I live.”

“This isn’t a home, I don’t think it has been for a while now. But if you won’t come stay at mine for a while, please go stay somewhere else Harry. I don’t think you should live here, especially not alone.” Harry was glaring at him now and Draco let out a loud exhalation of breath. “At least turn it into a place you want to live. Right now it’s like you’re living in a tomb”

Harry pulled the blankets tight around himself again, shrinking away from Draco as he thought over his words. He hugged himself for a while, and Draco just sat there, waiting, feeling like he’d already pressed enough. “I’d never thought of changing this place,” came Harry’s quiet voice after a number of silent minutes. He looked up at Draco, leaning forward so he could get a better look at Draco’s face. “Do you think I could?”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure why Harry would need his permission, of all things, to change a house he owned, but he certainly seemed to be looking for it. “Harry, no one is going to stop you from doing whatever you want with this place. I don’t think anyone can stop you from doing what you want, anyway.” He added with a small smirk.

A smile tugged at Harry’s lips again and he raised his eyebrows saying, “Well.” Then he shook his head and looked at Draco in askance again, “You’d let me stay with you?”

His heart turning over from Harry’s hesitant eagerness, Draco really just wanted to touch him again, but he kept to himself this time. “There is no _let_ , Harry. I _want_  you to come stay with me, either until you find a better place for yourself than here, or until you turn this place into your home.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a grin blossoming on his face and without his glasses on Draco got the full brunt of his happy gaze and for a moment he felt like his heart had stopped. “Thank you,” he said and sat back to take a look around the room. “I guess this place could use some touching up.”  

“Some,” Draco said with a snort, “Some he says.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Harry shoved Draco lightly, smiling a little.

“Not that bad? Harry, you have house elf heads mounted on your walls, I don’t think there’s been new wall coverings in _decades_ , and you have an angry portrait in your foyer. This isn’t a place to live, it’s a punishment.” Draco said haughtily, needing to impress upon Harry how much he thought the atmosphere Harry was living it wasn’t helping him at all.

Harry let out a sharp, uneven laugh. “Okay, maybe it’s pretty bad here.” He ducked his head, playing with the blanket hem again before he looked up at Draco through his fringe. “You really want me to come to yours then?”

“Yes,” Draco said immediately. “But if you don’t want to--”

“No,” Harry interrupted, “I do.” Harry’s hesitant smile was back. “I’d like to, I just don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not an imposition,” Draco said, getting up and uncurling himself from his position on the bed. “I wouldn’t offer if it was. Now, come on, let’s go.”

Harry scrambled to sit up as well, suprised, “Now?”

“As good a time as any,” Draco looked around, but couldn’t see Harry’s glasses anywhere. “What did you do with your glasses?”

Harry started rummaging in his blankets and after a minute made a triumphant sound and put his glasses back on his nose. They were crooked and a bit bent, and Draco just shook his head at how hopeless Harry was sometimes. “They fell off while I was sleeping,” Harry explained, looking sheepish, “I just didn’t see the point of putting them back on.”

“Oh, Harry,” Draco said and held out his hand to help Harry out of his nest in the bed. “Come on, we can even bring your ancient house elf and I’ll have Lark come back with him to pack up your things.”

Harry took his hand and after some fumbling got out of the bed to stand next to Draco. “Oh um,” he said, a flush blooming on his skin again, “There’s not much to bring.” Then he gestured to an old trunk that was in one of the corners of the room.

Draco looked from Harry, to the trunk, and then back to Harry again, and something inside of him fractured apart. Harry didn’t need to know that though, so Draco just nodded and levitated the trunk over to them. “All right then, that’s a little easier,” he said and then looked Harry up and down, he looked better than he had when Draco arrived, that was certain, but Draco wasn’t sure he would be all right to apparate on his own. He seemed far too out-of-sorts still. So Draco extended his arm for Harry to take, “Let’s go, Harry,” he said, his voice soft as he waited for Harry to move.

Harry took a look around the room, something sad and lost in his features, and then he faced Draco again and nodded. His wand sailed off the bureau and into his hand, and then he grabbed Draco’s elbow. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said, putting on a brave face.

He let go of Harry’s trunk for a minute to grab and squeeze the hand Harry had on his arm, and then he let go and picked up the trunk again. Then in the next instant they were popping into the foyer at Grearthon.

 

“Lark!” Draco called upon their entry.

She appeared immediately, and when she saw he had Harry with him she brightened considerably--she’d met him a number of times, especially when Harry used to come by for hot cocoa with Narcissa, another thing he stopped doing as of late. “How can I be helping?” she asked.

Draco gestured to the trunk in his hand, “Take this up to one of the bedrooms, and make it ready for Harry to stay in, okay?”

“Of course Master Malfoy!” Lark clicked her fingers and the trunk disappeared.

“Oh, and Lark, will you go back to Grimmauld and bring Kreacher here?” Draco asked, just before Lark disappeared as well.

Lark bowed, “Yes, Lark will be going after the room is ready,” she said and then disappeared.

 

Draco looked over at Harry, who was still loosely holding on to Draco’s arm, and looking a little bemused. “My mother won’t be back until next week, but I know she’ll be pleased to see you,” he hastened to explain.

“Oh,” Harry smiled slightly, “All right, thank you Draco.”

Harry was looking even more in a sorry state now that he was out of the shadows and gloom of Grimmauld and in the bright cleanliness of Grearthon. Draco took his hand and started leading up into the house and to the upstairs. “Come on, let’s go see which room Lark picked out for you. Then you can do whatever you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed readily, following Draco’s quick stride without trouble. “I think--I want to take a bath?” he said, turning the statement into a question, and Draco wondered if he’d learn why Harry seemed eager for permission for the strangest things.

“Of course, there’ll be an ensuite to your room,” Draco said as they entered the upper hall. “I’ll be in the upstairs study when you’re done, if you need me.”

Harry looked at him like he wanted to ask what Draco would be doing, but instead he just kept quiet and then they were in the room Lark had chosen. It was one of the rooms that overlooked the backyard and the park beyond, the large windows on the far wall brightening up the room in the afternoon sun. Draco left Harry once he’d shown him the large bathroom attached to the bedroom, telling himself he’d come to check on Harry in an hour if he hadn’t heard anything.

He went up to the study to compose a letter to Hermione, and tried to keep a hold on his worry. Harry seemed okay, at least right now, and that seemed like all he could ask for at present. Draco just hoped that a change of scenery, and living around other people, would help Harry feel less depressed.


	13. Chapter 13

Having Harry in his house was both lovely, because now he got to see him more often and could make sure for himself that Harry was okay, and infuriating because Draco's crush on Harry only flourished by living in such close proximity. He tried to stamp it out, not only was he sure it could ruin their friendship, but he also didn't think it was fair to think such thoughts about Harry when he was in such a rocky place emotionally. Since he also wasn't sure what was happening between Harry and Ginny, or if Harry even had an interest in men at all, it was rather self-serving to try to get himself to stop obsessing over Harry.

Unfortunately for Draco, it didn’t seem to be working out to well in that department.

He tried not to impose too much into Harry’s life, even though they were now sharing a living space, Draco was keen to keep in mind that it didn’t mean he was privy to Harry at all times. But, it seemed that Harry needed to be around people even more than Draco had originally thought, for he often found Harry seeking him out. Harry was still going through Auror training, and Draco was working on the Hogwarts repairs, so they were both busy and apart during the day. At first, Draco had thought that what with the social interaction Harry got at training, and just knowing there was someone else in the house, would be enough to help Harry pull out of his dark spiral. After finding Harry, quite a few times, quiet and solemn in the kitchen, or staring out a window but not going outside, Draco knew he needed to do more--but he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Figuring that perhaps it would help if Harry socialized a little more, Draco broached the subject over a dinner they shared one evening after they’d both come home.

“I was thinking,” he started, and Harry’s eyes immediately snapped up to Draco. He stalled a little, being the focus of Harry’s intense stare always threw him off. “I might invite some people over for dinner this weekend. Would you like that?”

Harry shrugged and then started toying with his food with his fork, Draco bit his tongue against the urge to tell him to quit it. “It’s your house Draco,” he said, his tone belaying how depressed he still was, “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

It felt like a knife had lodged in Draco’s sternum to hear Harry speak like that. He reached across the table--they took dinner in the kitchen around the small table that Draco had often found Harry and Narcissa at before. It was far more intimate and cosy than any of the dining rooms, and he could tell this sort of environment was one that Harry felt most comfortable with. Draco covered the hand Harry wasn’t using to toy with his food with his hand. “Harry,” he said softly, and waited for Harry to look up at him again. “ _Of course_  it matters what you think, Harry.” Harry’s gaze hardened, as if he was going to try to be stubborn about not mattering, and Draco wasn’t about to take that. Instead he squeezed Harry’s hand and said, “Your opinion matters Harry, your feelings _matter_.” When Harry just pressed his lips into a firm line, Draco kept an even firmer hold on Harry’s hand saying in a tone that brooked no argument, “You matter Harry. You matter to me.” Harry's stubborn expression fell away like brushing dust off an old chandelier, revealing a beautiful fragility that just stole Draco's breath away. Even though he felt that perhaps he had revealed too much about his true feelings, to see Harry looking at him with a mixture of hope and a starving need to believe Draco's words seemed worth the squirming embarrassment that jittered his nerves.

Harry’s hand twitched under Draco’s as he seemed to be trying to bite back a hesitant smile. “Do you,” Harry swallowed and ducked his head, looking at the table again instead of Draco. “Do you really mean that?” he asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Draco said, his voice thick around the weight of his confession.

Harry nodded, still looking down at the table, though his attention seemed caught where Draco was still gripping his hand. Draco suddenly felt hot and ridiculous, he was revealing far too much to Harry right now and he had to stop himself. He started to pull his hand back, but Harry turned his hand over to grip Draco tightly. “Thank you,” Harry’s voice rasped like he’d been yelling. Then he looked up, still holding Draco’s hand tightly with his own, and his gaze pinned Draco to the spot. He felt a bit like he was going to tumble straight into Harry’s vibrant eyes, and he had to swallow hard once, twice, just to feel like he could find his footing again. Then Harry smiled at him, and Draco felt lost all over again. “I think I’d like that,” Harry said, finally answering Draco’s question. “But, maybe only a couple of people?”

“Whatever you want, Harry,” Draco said, smiling in return, feeling a bit like he could see rays of sun poking out through thick clouds. A warm spike of giddiness overtook him and he couldn’t help squeezing Harry’s hand. Harry wasn’t better, it would take more time and work, but Draco could feel hope. Hope, and a little bit of pride, in that he was actually being helpful. “Mum will be coming home on Friday, so would you mind if she joined us?”

Harry shifted in his chair and loosened the hold he had on Draco’s hand, but did not quite let go. “I’d like to see Narcissa, yes,” he said in a small voice, ducking his head for a minute before looking back up at Draco through his fringe. “She--she’s been good to me.” Then he suddenly seemed to become aware of himself again and snatched his hand away from Draco, a guilty look overtaking his features.

Draco felt the loss of the warmth of Harry’s hand keenly, and he wondered what it was that Harry had thought of that had him looking so uncertain. “Harry?” he asked, leaning forward, but kept his hand to himself this time.

Harry just shook his head and started playing with his food again. “It’s nothing,” he said after a minute, and gave Draco a look that said he wouldn’t talk about it, no matter how much Draco prodded.

He was desperately curious. And the small part of him that always lit up with hope when Harry didn’t mind Draco touching him, or reached out for Draco himself, felt like it was on fire for a bit there. Now it was a bit like he’d been doused with water, and it was very hard to keep himself from showing Harry how much his rejection just now hurt.

Instead, Draco sat up straight again and snapped his fingers for Lark to clear away the dishes. He wasn’t hungry anymore, and Harry certainly wasn’t eating anyway. Harry sat back in surprise when his dishes disappeared, then he shot Draco a slightly disgruntled look.

“Oh you weren’t eating anyway,” Draco said with a wave of his hand. “Come on Harry, we can go watch the sun set in the library.” He stood and waited for Harry to join him, just resisting the urge to hold out his hand for Harry. Draco knew he was in trouble already, but with how often he felt the need to reach out for Harry, he was pretty sure he was a lost cause at this point. And oh, was he ever glad his father couldn’t see what had become of him now. Draco shook his head violently, it would not do to think on his father. As Narcissa had said many times since Lucius was sent to Azkaban again, there was nothing to do but keep going, and the world they were in now was not welcome to his father’s old ideals. All he could do now was try to unlearn the vitriol he had grown up being taught, and he was working on it all the time. But right now, it just wasn’t necessary to think on Lucius. Not while things were quiet and rocky with Harry, and all Draco wanted to do was help him.

 

 

Dinner seemed more and more like a good idea as the weekend drew closer. Harry was more animated by the day, and even came with Ron to Hogwarts for lunch on the Friday before. Ron and Hermione were invited to join them, along with Blaise and a newly returned Luna. Then, finally, it was Saturday. Lark was beside herself with excitement, making sure the house was prepared to receive guests--something they had not done formally since before. Harry was flitting about the house almost as frantically as Lark, until Draco grabbed his elbow and took him out back to the gardens so he’d be out of the flurry and hopefully would calm now. As good as it was to see him actively engaged, Marisol had given Draco advice on keeping an eye on Harry since he might put too much pressure on himself about being social which could lead to an even harsher backfire after everyone leaves. Which was why Draco thought getting Harry out of the house until the guests arrived would help him stay calm so he could avoid crashing so hard that night.

"But Draco, we need to make sure there's enough food for everyone," Harry protested as Draco bodily dragged him outside.

"That's what Lark is here for, Harry. Let's go sit in the sun before it's gone for the day." Draco finally got them in the backyard and steered Harry to one of the sprawling lawn chairs, even though it wasn’t sunny at all, he still thought it important they sit outside right now. "Just sit, Harry. Tonight will be fine."

Harry sat gingerly on the chair and kept looking back at the house. Then he sighed and seemed to collapse in on himself before he looked up and over at Draco, his hair falling into his eyes in such a way that Draco had to clench his hand into a fist to resist the temptation to brush it out of Harry’s face. “I just want everyone to have a good time,” Harry said quietly.

“I know,” Draco took a seat at the adjacent chair, far enough for Harry to have his own space, but still close by. “And they will Harry, they are your friends.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said begrudgingly while sitting back in his chair and looking up at the sky. He watched the clouds for a few moments, and Draco settled back into his own chair, his attention split between the large dark clouds in the sky, and watching Harry look at them. After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice quiet, “I know I’m worrying them, and I wish I could stop.”

Taking his cue from Harry, Draco turned his attention to the sky. It was horribly gloomy out, but between the shifting clouds they could see glimpses of the orangey-red setting sun. Draco worked his throat, trying to find the words he wanted without sounding too placating. Finally he settled on, “That’s what friends do though, isn’t it Harry? They only worry about you because they care about you.”

Harry turned over in his chair so he could look straight at Draco. “After everything we’ve all been through,” he seemed to have run out of words and let out a long breath of air, closing his eyes for a moment. “It’s shouldn’t be this difficult now that I’m not fighting for my life.”

Draco turned over so he could fully face Harry as well, “But now you get to _l_ _ive_ , Harry. Even if that means it’s hard sometimes.” And now it was Draco’s turn to feel like his words had run away from him as he thought on the panic that still squatted in the back of his mind like a vicious toad, waiting to strike at the worst moment.

Harry quirked a small grin and then lifted his hand to examine it for a moment before reaching out to the space between their chairs. “Does it still help you,” he snagged his fingers on the arm of Draco’s chair, “To think about when I came back for you?”

Resisting the urge to touch Harry’s hand on his chair was a test of Draco’s self control. He put his hand onto the armrest as well, but didn’t touch Harry. “Yeah,” Draco said in a whisper. It didn’t always work, though recently he’d needed it less as a crutch, but he still found himself thinking of Harry reaching out to save him when he could feel the tendrils of panic threatening to overtake his mind.

Harry’s hand covered his then, warm, solid, and reassuring. Draco looked up at Harry in surprise to find Harry wearing a strange serious expression, with his lips pursed. When Draco caught his eye, Harry’s lips turned up a little and he said, “I’m glad.” Then he bit his lip and frowned before saying, “I mean, not that you still need to, or that you ever did. Just,” Harry let out a breath and Draco couldn’t help the small curl of a smile from forming on his own face, there was something just utterly charming about how flustered and careful Harry was being. Then Harry was looking right at him again, pinning Draco with his deep green eyes. “I’m just glad I could help at all.” He seemed to be finished saying what he’d been trying to get out, and now he squeezed Draco’s hand gently.

Those words, Harry’s gentle tone and earnest expression all together had Draco feeling like there was some enormous pressure pressing down on his heart, as though the weight of his own feelings were crushing him for a moment. He blinked and breathed in, and then on the exhale he turned his hand in Harry’s and squeezed back. Draco knew he was too far gone, and it would likely ruin him, but he felt powerless to stop his feelings for Harry. “Harry,” he said and it sounded like it had been punched out of him. He cleared his throat and tried again, “You realize that’s all we want to do for you too?”

“I just don’t want to be a burden,” Harry said, his words stilted as he shifted his gaze back up to the clouds again.

Draco sighed, he knew it would be a long time for both of them to be any semblance of okay, he just wished Harry could see his own worth better. “Do you think of Ron or Hermione as a burden when they are having a hard time?” he asked, keeping a strong hold on harry’s hand when he started to pull away and tried to curl in on himself.

“No,” Harry answered immediately, sullenly. “They’re my best friends, of course not,” he said fiercely, eyes snapping back to Draco’s face in anger.

Draco gave Harry a small, patient smile, glad to see the fire in Harry’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you think then, that they’d feel the same about you?”

Harry stared at him for a long moment, taken aback. Then he shrunk back into his chair, his hand lax in Draco’s as he said, “Oh,” in a very small voice. He took his hand back and started fussing with his hair as he looked back up at the sky, his throat working hard. “Am I hurting them?” he asked after a few moments, and then closed his eyes as his chest heaved with his erratic breathing. “Because I--” he swallowed audibly, “--I doubt them?”

For a minute, Draco wasn’t sure what to say. He knew that Hermione and Ron were both worried about Harry, he’d spoken to both of them about Harry a number of times since Harry had started staying at Grearthon with him. It just did not seem like something Harry needed to hear right now, and yet, Draco couldn’t bring himself to be dishonest with Harry when he was already hurting so much. “I think it’s a part of caring about people, Harry, that sometimes we hurt them when we don’t mean to.” Draco started, and then Harry turned to him with wide, pleading eyes, and Draco’s heart ached for him. “But Harry, they’re here for you,” he let out a breath and continued stronger, “We’re here for you, even when it’s hard.”

Harry pressed his lips so tightly together they started to lighten, and he just nodded jerkily. Then he abruptly stood up and turned away from Draco, looking off toward the park the yard backed up onto. Even so, Draco could see the way Harry’s shoulders shook and how he brought his hand up to wipe his face. All Draco wanted to do was get up and pull Harry into his arms, but he did not know if that would backfire on him.

Except he could not sit idly by while Harry was obviously hurting, and from one moment to the next he was quickly on his feet and stepping over to Harry. “Harry,” he said before putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Draco turned him around with gentle tugging and then pulled Harry into a hug. He felt like he was treading over fractured ice that would split and plunge him into frozen depths at any moment, and he’d taken a wrong step and was just waiting for the water to rush up into his lungs.

But then Harry practically fell into him with how heavily he leaned into Draco and wrapped his arms around him, holding on like he was afraid of letting go. Draco’s breath came out of him in a rush he was so effectively squeezed tight by Harry. Then he got his bearings and he held Harry more securely, tucking his chin over Harry’s head. “Hey, I’m here,” he whispered into the tangled mass of Harry’s hair and felt Harry’s whole body shudder in response.

“Thank you,” came Harry’s ragged reply, and after a minute he was pulling back, so Draco let him, relaxing the way his arms were around Harry. But Harry only pulled back enough so he could look at Draco’s face, his gaze jumping from Draco’s eyes, to his lips, and then back. Harry bit his own lip, and Draco felt like something deep inside him was awakening with fire at the way Harry was looking at him. Harry was depressed though, and likely only latching onto Draco because he was around so much--and Draco couldn’t put himself or Harry through that.

“You okay?” he asked, squeezing Harry’s shoulders and watching, a little heartbroken as the spell Harry had been under seemed to shatter, and he shook his head and came back to himself.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yeah,” he repeated and pulled away completely, giving Draco a long look before he turned his attention back to the house. “It should be about time now, shouldn’t it?”

Draco didn’t mind the change of subject, he currently felt far too off-kilter and needed something familiar and easy to bring him back to somewhere safe to tread. “Yes, we should head back inside.”

 

 

Everyone arrived slowly, but dinner went well. Draco had been worried that perhaps it would be stilted since Ron never really interacted with Draco’s mother, and while Hermione and Blaise had worked together few times on the restoration--he wasn’t sure conversation would flow easily. After they’d all sat down and started eating, it seemed his worries were unfounded. He should had known his mother, a consummate host, would be more than able to make sure everyone was comfortable. Despite how Draco was getting accustomed to all the changes his life kept going through, having a Weasley and a Muggleborn eating at the same table as his mother still threw him for a loop--and yet, Hermione was laughing as Narcissa regaled them with an anecdote from her time in Thailand, and Ron and Blaise appeared to be commiserating over something at the other end of the table. Draco looked over to where Luna and Harry were bent close together, speaking quietly, and Luna looked up right then and gave him a smile before turning back to Harry. To see all these people come together now, so comfortably conversing with each other, was a little inspiring for Draco.

After dinner, once everyone had gone home and Narcissa retired up to her room, Draco found Harry standing by the mantle, staring into the empty grate. Feeling a creeping sense of dread that Marisol was right and Harry was going to backslide, Draco came further into the room, wanting to help if he could.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, standing to the side of Harry near the fireplace.

“Yeah,” came Harry’s distracted answer as he continued to stare into the grate for a minute longer before he turned to look at Draco, his eyes shuttered and dark. His lips twitched into an insincere grin, Harry’s entire demeanor affirming Draco’s worries and pulling at his heart to see Harry like this. “It was nice to see them, yes.”

“I’m glad,” Draco said, turning his back to the fireplace to lean against it while he spoke to Harry. He had a very strong feeling that it wouldn’t be ideal to leave Harry alone right now.

When Harry looked at him, sighed, and rested his forehead against the arm he had braced on the mantle, Draco wanted to say something, or reach out to him, but since he didn’t know what Harry was thinking he thought it best to wait and see what Harry might say. He didn’t have long to wait, for Harry started speaking to the fireplace, but Draco knew the words were for him. “I just wish I didn’t feel like this,” Harry’s voice came out tight and a little breathless.

Draco tilted his body a little more toward Harry so he could put his hand on Harry’s elbow. “I know, Harry. I know.”

Harry turned his face to Draco, sighing, “How do you do it? How do you keep going?”

Draco thought about his sessions with Marisol, the talks he had with his mother, the small vial of calming potion he always had in his pocket, but most of all he thought of Harry’s warm presence in his life. He squeezed Harry’s elbow wondering how he could help Harry see he already had a good support system around him, and have Harry believe him. “With help,” came Draco’s rasping response. Then he started tugging on Harry’s arm, “Come on, I want to show you something.” He was gratified to see a small spark of curiosity light in Harry’s eyes before he turned from the mantle at Draco’s insistence and followed him out of the floo room.

Harry was subdued and quiet walking next to Draco, but came willingly which Draco was content enough with. He brought them into the study where he’d found all the strange whirring instruments that he’d been slowly acquainting himself with. Once they were both inside, Draco closed the doors and shut the drapes while picking up a small sphere that was decorated with sparkling stars all around its surface.

“What is it?” Harry asked, stepping closer to see in the now dim room.

Draco couldn’t help smiling in his excitement to show this to Harry. “Watch,” he said and tapped his wand against the side of the sphere. The stars shot out of the sphere and expanded along the ceiling and walls around them, showing off a model of the night sky they could see if they went outside. Then Draco rotated the sphere in his hands, and the stars they could see rotated as well, showing more constellations.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, wonder in his tone as he looked around the room with wide eyes. “Oh this is marvelous, Draco.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, smiling at the amazement in Harry’s eyes, his heart expanding with joy at seeing something other than pain in his eyes. “Want to see my constellation?”

Harry turned his attention to Draco, a smile playing on his lips, “Yeah.”

Draco tapped the sphere again, this time deliberately in one area and a cluster of stars shone brighter in the room, illuminating the constellation that he shared his name with.

They stayed in the study, with Draco turning the sphere and pointing out the constellations he’d learned as a child. Harry chimed in a few times, showing Draco the ones he learned in school, and then others he’d made up while looking outside as a child at his aunt and uncle’s house. The hour grew later, and Draco could feel tiredness settle into his bones, but he stayed there with Harry looking at the stars until they were both too tired to stand and ended up sprawled on the floor of the study together.

 

 

On Monday Draco returned to Hogwarts, the restoration was still not finished, but as McGonagall seemed only heartened by their progress, Draco fought not to feel discouraged by how endless the whole project seemed. He was currently working with Blaise and a whole group to make the dungeons habitable again. They were admittedly the least damaged part of the castle but after the wards had fallen the protections on the dungeons had started to disintegrate,  and they had to work quickly to keep the Black Lake from leaking into the castle.

It had already started in the Slytherin dorms. When Draco entered with Blaise and the explored to see the extent of the damage, it felt like a personal blow to see water rushing in to the fourth year's dorms. Other areas had bits of puddles and standing water, but for some reason the enchantments around the window to the black lake in those dorms failed first. They had to quickly release some containment charms to keep the water in the rooms. As soon as they had opened the door, the knee level water nearly came rushing out.

"Never thought I'd see it like this," Blaise said, his face a grim mask.

Draco shook his head in agreement. "No, I never thought I'd see any of Hogwarts like this," he said while casting spells to find the weak points that were causing the leaks.

It was possibly the worst seeing the dorms in this state, Hogwarts itself may have been his home for years, but these rooms. This is where he lived. He'd measured the space with his body, he knew all the secret hiding places, the hidden alcoves, the funny stairs. This was where he'd marked his life, where he'd gone to recoup after losing, yet again, to Harry. Here was where he received letters of love from his mother, and badly veiled disappointment from his father.

It felt worse than a betrayal to see these rooms flooded and in disrepair. He needed to bring the Slytherin dorms back to their former glory, and possibly even better--they needed to turn this house into a better safe-haven for the students who got sorted here. From the grim look on Blaise’s face as he survey the common room, it seemed it might be on the same page. At least about restoring the look and feel of the rooms.

Draco wanted to do that, and more. He was aware that he was partially at fault for the attitude of the house, he had never tried to make nice with any of the non-pureblooded Slytherins, and he knew there were some in the house. Now he wondered how they could have gotten through school living with people like him the whole time. It wasn’t just him though, Draco knew that the attitudes of everyone outside of the house needed to change as well. The whole rumor that there wasn’t a wizard who went bad that wasn’t in Slytherin was decidedly untrue, but it still made the young kids up for sorting decide that those in Slytherin must be bad.

It wouldn’t be an easy task, but like so many things Draco kept forcing himself to do recently, it certainly would be a necessary one.

But first, they needed to get all of the water out of the dormitory and restore the look of the place. He could work on trying to help change the perspectives of others while working on restoring the castle, but he would definitely need help. Just the thought of trying to take that on by himself was overwhelming. Except he knew now that he didn’t have to do things alone, that there were others out there he could rely on and ask for help from, and they would be happy to lend a hand.

These thoughts were in the forefront of his mind when he was wandering the halls of the dungeon a few weeks into restoring them. He was looking for more weak spots, and cataloguing places they could make brighter and more welcoming for younger students, when he heard an odd sound--like someone was gasping and trying to catch their breath. Draco hurried to follow the sound, knowing how terrifying it was to be alone while panicking. Everyone had been so kind and accommodating to him when he was having an attack, he felt it was about time he helped someone else with theirs.

It was further down the hall, where they were still working on making it better lit when Draco came upon a person sitting on the floor in a small alcove. They were curled down, shoulders shaking as they cried. As Draco neared he could tell it was a girl, but not much else until he got closer. Unsure if he would be welcome, but feeling a strong need to at least offer comfort, Draco came and slid down the wall to sit next to them.

Immediately she shot her head up and looked at him suspiciously, and Draco could tell it was one of the Patil twins, but not which one. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she snapped, her voice coming out croaky from her tears, that she viciously swiped with the sleeve of her robes.

“Nothing horrible, I promise,” Draco said holding his hands up with his palms open and fingers loosely spread. “Just thought maybe I could help.”

She scoffed, “You? Help? How could you help me, Malfoy?” He saw the hands she had wrapped around her legs tighten their grip as she swallowed hard.

Draco shrugged and leaned against the wall, giving her space, but still staying close. “I’ve found that sometimes, it can help to talk about these kinds of things.”

“Oh really? And what would you know about losing your best friend?” she huffed, glaring at him, and Draco realized she must have been the Gryffindor twin--Parvati--the one who always seemed attached at the hip to that girl Weasley dated in sixth year, Brown or something.

He leaned his head against the wall behind him, lost in memories of Crabbe--and breathing into himself when he thought of the fire that consumed his friend. Draco was improving, he knew this, and he knew this especially since he could think of that horrible day without being seized by panic. Parvati shifted noisily next to him, reminding Draco that he hadn't said anything. "I lost a friend that day too," he said quietly, feeling the familiar weight of guilt that he always did when he thought of Crabbe. Parvati obviously felt her loss far more keenly, and Draco  could only hope that she didn't think he was trying to slight her by offering a branch of shared pain.

Parvati looked over at him in disbelief. “Oh, did you now?” she asked with a snort.

“Yeah,” Draco said in a breath and closed his eyes to her stare. “Crabbe was swallowed up by the Fiendfyre he tried to capture Harry with. I don’t imagine I feel the loss of him as sharply as you do for Lavender,” he stumbled over his words a bit at the sound of her quick intake of breath, certain she would yell at him for imposing. “I just--” Draco dared to open his eyes and saw Parvati looking at him with a closed expression. “It’s good, I’ve found, knowing you don’t have to go through it alone,” he finished, holding her gaze.

Parvati stared at him for a long moment before she swallowed and looked away. Staring at the opposite wall she spoke in a low voice, "I don't know how talking to you could help."

"You never know," Draco said with a small, sad smile. "I might not be as bad as you remember." She rolled her eyes but the hint of a smile flashing in her expression gave him encouragement. "I never really spoke to her, so if you're up for it, I'd love to hear what Lavender was like." Draco said, meaning it more as a request than anything. He had his own impression of the girl, from the way he'd seen her giggling and sighing over boys with Parvati. There was more to her, that he knew, just as well as he knew from speaking with Marisol and just observing the others that having someone listen helped ease the pain a lot.

Parvati let out a loud sigh next to him, but scooted back against the wall, making herself more comfortable. “I guess I could tell you about her,” she shot Draco a skeptical look. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Only so long as it isn’t funny, yes,” Draco said with a small smile that he was pleased to see her return.

“All right, I suppose that’s all I can ask for anyway.” Parvati stretched her legs out and Draco watched as she looked off into the middle distance as she lost herself in memories. “Lavender was always so cheery, it was what caught my attention when I first met her. Even back then, at eleven, she was just a tiny little thing but she was so exuberant and welcoming. I remember, it was the first time I’d ever been apart from Padma and everything was so new and different than I was expecting--and then Lavender came and sat on my bed and asked me if I wanted to paint nails with her.” Parvati let out a small, sad little laugh. “It was so nice to have someone to do that with, Padma wasn’t ever interested when we were younger--she’s more into makeup now, but at the time it was so novel to have a friend who liked the same things I did.”

“It sounds like she was really good for you,” Draco said softly, touched by how much Parvati was sharing with him, and feeling sad for her, for having lost that connection with another person.

“Yeah,” Parvati nodded and turned to give Draco a watery smile, “Yeah, she really was.” Then she let out a strange hiccuping sob and buried her face in her hands as she started crying again, “I don’t know what to do without her.”

 Draco didn’t know what to do, he felt a bit like he was intruding , but at the same time he felt even more like he needed to do something to comfort her. Conflicted, Draco put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “You just have to keep going, it’s all you can do,” he said quietly.

Parvati stiffened under his touch and made a hiccuping sound, shaking her head. “What’s the point?” she whispered into her arms. "I've lost my best friend."

It was easy to see that Parvati was in mourning, but to Draco it also sounded like she was incredibly depressed, which was entirely understandable. But he found himself wondering if she had anyone to help her through this, like how he had Marisol. Or how Harry, who seemed to be slowly improving, had Draco, as well as his other friends. “I think,” he started to say, “I think it matters that you just keep going after a loss, and then after a while it’ll come to you and you will remember how to start living again.”

She let out a sharp, humourless bark of laughter, “What a bunch of shit, Malfoy,” she said with a shake of her head. “I know she’d hate to see me like this over her. You probably thought we were just silly, I know that’s what people tend to think--” she swallowed, “ _thought_  of us, but she was important. And she was happy.”

“Maybe trying to do things that will help you remember her at her happiest could help?” Draco suggested.

Parvati turned to give him a wry look and then wiped off her face again, drying it off completely. “Perhaps,” she allowed and then stood up. “I think I’m going to head home for today,” she said, and then after taking a few steps away she turned back to look at him, considering for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, thanks Malfoy,” she said with a sad smile and then turned and disappeared down the hall.

Draco sat there on the cold stone floor for a while after she’d gone. His hand, which he’d put in his robe pocket to look for the stone Harry gave him, had instead knocked against the bottle of calming potion. Now he was gripping it tightly as his thoughts raced. He wanted to help, he realized this a while ago when he had started coming to Hogwarts, he honestly wanted to do what he could to help. He knew he was already by working on Hogwarts, but seeing the way those around him were so fractured and in pain Draco knew there had to be something more that he, or  _anyone_  could be doing.

His fingers started to ache due to how tightly he was holding the vial, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he was lost in thought, away from the pain in his hand. If he could figure out the properties of the potion, perhaps, perhaps he could develop one to help lessen the symptoms of depression. Especially the depression he kept seeing haunting the eyes of his yearmates--the depression that came with surviving a war when some of their friends had not.

Now he just needed to figure out how to do it.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      


	14. Chapter 14

Marisol stared at him for a long enough moment that Draco had to quell the urge to squirm. She tapped her pen idly against her notebook and then finally spoke, "I think it's a very admirable idea, Draco. Perhaps though, a bit too big to do alone?"

“Well of course I don’t plan on working on it alone,” Draco said with a small smile. “I’ll need the information from your supplier on how the brew the potion that I take, and that’s just the start. But I think it’s something we need here.” Draco slumped back in his chair and blew out a long, cold breath. “I’m the only person I know seeing a mind healer, but far from the only one who needs the help dealing with the aftereffects of the war."

"You're not," Marisol said, her expression softening. "But don't try to place the responsibility of the well-being of the wizarding world onto your shoulders alone. There are many of us working for the same things, Draco."

“I’m not, I just--” Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, he really did need to get a cut again, it was nearly long enough to tie up now. “I just think that if we can have more people actually dealing with the trauma they experienced, then the wizarding world can actually move effectively into the future.”

Marisol smiled at him and scrawled something down in her notepad. Then she looked back up at him, her dark eyes kind and sharp. “Who are you thinking of asking to help?”

 

\----

 

It was three days ago that Draco had finally received word from Pansy: she would be returning in two days hence and was just dying to see Draco and hear all about what had happened in her absence. Pansy had always been his closest friend, ever since they were little terrors stomping around the manor while her parents visited his, she had inserted herself into his life and demanded his attention. For a while their friendship had felt a little more like a battle, each vying for the other’s attention, trying to best each other; they were equally stubborn and, if Draco was honest, equally selfish. It was during fourth year, when the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had come en mass into the school, that their friendship shifted. From late nights up talking in the common room by the dwindling fire, to mornings making sure they were both presentable to leave the dorms, they changed from a bickering and biting friendship into something else, something much closer. After Draco felt like he must have humiliated Pansy by asking her to the Yule Ball, and then realizing he was just very much not into girls--she had found him huddled in one of the windows overlooking the lake and tucked herself up on the sill beside him.

“You know,” she’d said, petting his hair softly. “I prefer you much more as my brother than my boyfriend.”

And Draco, at fourteen and uncertain what was wrong with him for not wanting Pansy like how Blaise wanted all the girls, had sighed into her embrace and swallowed down the prickling tears that threatened to fall.

It had felt like he had lost his wand all over again, not having Pansy here by his side these past months since the end of the war. He knew that she had needed to take her own time to decompress what happened in her own way--and he was glad that she was apparently doing well, but still, he had missed her so fiercely it was like a balm on a burning ache to hear she would be coming home soon.

Now he was sitting in their favorite little bakery waiting for her to arrive. He’d ordered a chocolate filled scone and a cup of black tea, and had to stop himself from shredding the scone with his fingers as he waited for her. Then the door opened with a chiming of a bell and then Pansy stepped into the small bakery with a grand sweep of her arm. Her hair was in the same bob as ever, black and straight, and she’d gotten a tan while sunning on the beaches of the Mediterranean, she looked dark and more than a little dangerous with her stark black eyeliner and blood red lips. Draco was pleased to see she was just as commanding in presence as ever. She quickly assessed the room and when her eyes alighted on Draco her face split into a pleased smile. Draco rose as she neared and they embraced. Pansy, always fluctuating between loving and hating her name’s origins wore a spicy perfume that made Draco think of fires burning in a forest.

“Draco! You doll, I can’t believe it’s been so long,” Pansy said and sat down in the chair across from his with a sigh. “It felt like I was only away for a week, and then before I knew it months has passed by. Not that I wasn’t busy, or anything,” she finished with a wink.

Draco smiled fondly at her, merlin how he’d missed her. “I’m sure you were, you’ll have to tell me all about all the hearts you left broken by the sea.” Pansy did a small elegant shrug of her shoulders, not even pretending to be abashed. “I’ve missed you so much Pans,” Draco said and took her finely manicured hand in his.

“Me too, Draco, me too.” Pansy’s airs seemed to drop away in an instant and she was smiling at him genuinely. “It’s so lovely to see you, and you look so well!” She released his hand to touch his hair, which he’d gotten trimmed the other day and had shaved the sides close while leaving the top bit long and styled in an upward back-sweeping wave. “This is marvellous, whatever gave you the idea?”

Draco couldn’t help the pleased sigh he made as he fingers threaded through his hair, warm and familiar. “Mmm, it was Harry actually, he’d brought in some muggle magazine the other day--I think mother might have foisted it on him. One of the models had a style a bit like this, and I’ve been dying to do something new.”

“It suits you well,” Pansy said and then scooted her chair closer to his eagerly. She put her elbows on the table and cupped her face in her loosely formed fists, grinning widely at Draco. “So.” she said, raising her eyebrows.

Draco raised his in return, he may had forgotten how eager Pansy was for gossip nearly all the time. Or how enthusiastic she was that he was in love with Harry when they were in school. “So?” he said, forming it into a question, feeling like he knew where her inquiry was headed, but wanting to forestall it for a moment just to frustrate her.

Pansy just shook her head and blinked, “You know so. So tell me about _Harry_.”

He knew he must had pinked a little, Draco could feel the warmth of a flush on his neck. “Aside from him living with us now, there’s not much to tell.” Draco said, but by the way Pansy’s eyes stared at him, glittering in amusement, Draco knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with that. He sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers along the top of the table. “Honestly though,” he paused, licking his bottom lip and wondering if he should say anything. “You must promise this goes no further than you.” he said, staring at her hard.

Her eyes widened and then she smirked, “Of course not, you know me, Draco.”

“I do, that’s why I need you to swear you won’t tell anyone.” Draco said with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re no fun Draco, anyone ever tell you that?” Pansy asked, sticking her tongue out a little. Then she winked and said, “I promise, not a word. When have I ever told your secrets?”

Draco had to allow her that point, as much as she was a gossip hound, Pansy had never revealed any of his secrets in her quest for dirt on everyone. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. Especially when they weren't his secrets to begin with, not fully. “All right,” Draco said and cast a silencing charm around them, not willing to take any chances. “I was worried about him, he didn’t seem to be doing well living in my great aunt’s old house--” Pansy gasped

“He was living at that horrid place?” she asked, having heard from Draco about his visits there as a child--though Draco was surprised she remembered it at all.

“Yes,” Draco said, feeling slightly relieved that she had an idea of the horrible living conditions Harry had been in, it made his actions seem slightly less rash. “It wasn’t doing him any good.”

Pansy snorted inelegantly and reached over to snag Draco’s scone. “I can’t imagine it’d be good for anyone.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Draco asked, and Pansy took a big bite of his scone in response, gazing at him in amusement as she chewed. Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his utterly ridiculous friend Draco continued speaking, “He wasn’t himself. Well,” Draco paused, that wasn’t true, Harry was still Harry, even when he was depressed. It was more, “He needed help, so I had him come stay with us at Grearthon.” Pansy raised both of her eyebrows and took another avid bite of Draco’s scone. Draco sighed and looked down at the cup of tea he had cooling on the table. “I think he’s doing better, he seems to be anyway, but then, he also doesn’t.”

Pansy stared at Draco for a long moment, the scone held loosely in her fingers, practically forgotten. “Are you sure it’s healthy for you to have him be such a big part of your life when you’re not over him at all?” she asked, and then reached over to cover Draco’s hand with her free one. “I think it’s lovely you want to help him, but is it the best thing to have him living with you?”

“I don’t know Pans,” Draco said with a shuddering breath. “I’m just doing the best I can. I hope it’s a good thing.” He squeezed her hand and looked back up at her face, “That’s the best we can do, right? Hope?”

“Oh, darling,” Pansy breathed, her voice thick. “Your heart has always been so soft.” She squeezed his and and gave him a smile. “I just want you to be happy and well, and if this is working for you, then I am here for it. Perhaps he can get his head out of his ass and realize he’s gone over you, too.”

Draco startled and let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not gone over me Pans, I’m just his friend.” Pansy pursed her lips, looking very mutinous. “Look,” Draco said placatingly, “It’s fine, I’m fine with just being his friend. I knew going into this that he and Ginerva are going to get back together--” Pansy let out a sharp bark of laughter, interrupting him. “What?” Draco asked, eyeing her suspiciously. Pansy knew something, that much was obvious.

“Oh, Draco, you don’t know?”  She patted his hand and sat back, smiling gleefully. “She’s with Lovegood.” Pans was giving him a look of such satisfaction that Draco knew she wasn’t lying--but it couldn’t be, he’d certainly have heard about that, wouldn’t he?

He frowned at her. “Where did you hear that?”

Pansy sat back up primly and smiled, “Sources, darling. I have my sources. All you need to know is that it’s true, though I hear it’s a bit of a different relationship since Luna has no interest in sex or anything--but it is decidedly true.” She took a small bite of his scone before continuing to speak. “Regardless, it means that your boy wonder has no ties to anyone at the moment.”

Draco was certain he could feel a flush creeping up his cheeks and took a steadying drink of his tea to try to force it back down. “He’s not  _my_  anything, Pansy.” he bit out.

“For now,” Pansy allowed with a tip of her head.

“That’s not--” Draco shook his head. “I don’t want to discuss this right now.” Pansy’s face fell at his words, her lips forming into a moue. “No, really. I wanted to talk to you about partnering with me to form a company.”

She immediately perked back up again, “Oh? What would said company be doing?”

Draco smiled at her interest, he knew he could count on her desire to tackle anything new. It definitely helped that his idea would be working toward the betterment of the wizarding world, and therefore elevating both of their statuses back toward what they were accustomed to. He knew once she heard about his idea she would agree to partner with him. Even if she only agreed for self-serving interest, her input would be invaluable, but Draco was certain that just like how his own desire to make this company was slightly self-serving, the rest was borne out of a desire to make sure that their community could step forward into the future on steady feet, and he knew Pansy would likely feel the same way.

“I want to start a brewing company,” he said, and smirked when Pansy wrinkled her nose. “We would be brewing experimental potions to help with the aftereffects the war has had on many people.”

Pansy’s face smoothed out and she looked at Draco curiously. “Mind-altering potions?” she asked in a whisper.

The use and production of mind-altering potions, as Pansy was likely thinking of, was highly restricted and very illegal to do without a license. These were not the kinds Draco was looking to produce, and he said as much. “In a way, but not like what you’re thinking. More like mind suggestion potions, that help people deal with the depression they may experience now, or anxiety, or anything.” Draco shrugged and reached into his own pocket to fiddle with the potion vial he kept in there. He’d not really had the chance to tell Pansy about his seeing Marisol, or his panic attacks, and as much as he did not feel like going into all of that now, he knew that it was a large part of why he even wanted to do this at all. He took in a steadying breath and pulled the vial out of his pocket, presenting it to Pansy.

She picked it up with careful fingers, examining the vial before uncorking in and taking a sniff. “What is it?” She asked after being unable to identify it.

“It’s a calming potion. My mind-healer gave it to me to help stop the panic attacks.” Draco answered, and then bit his lip. They’d been friends for ages, sure, but that did not mean he wasn’t anxious about her response to finding out how weak he had been--how weak he still was.

Pansy corked the bottle again, a solemn expression on her face as she placed the vial on the table. Then she abruptly stood up and stepped out of the silencing charm and went over to the counter. Draco watched her from where he sat, his stomach rolling and tying itself into knots. Why had she left like that? Should he go? Did she want nothing to do with him now? He palmed the vial and held onto it tightly for a minute before slipping it back into his pocket. He drummed his fingers along the tabletop and tried to even his breathing, it was hard to reconcile their friendship with Pansy just abandoning him like that. It wasn’t like he could control that he had a problem with anxiety. Perhaps she just didn’t want to--

With a clink a plate with another scone, warm and steaming slightly, was placed on the table in front of him just before he was engulfed in Pansy’s spiced scent as she hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I would have returned much sooner if I had known.”

For a moment he relished in being surrounded by her scent and squeezing arms. He blinked hard against the moisture that tickled his eyelids, ashamed that he had doubted her, but relieved that he had been so wrong. He held onto her just as tightly as she was holding onto him and let out a long shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and wrecked.

Pansy squeezed him tight again and then pulled back to press a kiss to his temple. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He could hear the slight tremor of betrayal in her tone and his heart squeezed hard from it.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said, and he hadn’t. They had all had to find their way right after the war ended, and for her it was beaches and boys, and he had not wanted to impose upon her with his struggles.

She let out a huff and slapped his shoulder lightly before returning to her seat, which she pulled a little closer to him before sitting down again. “Of course I’m going to worry about you Draco, you’re my best friend.”

“Pansy--”

“I don’t want to hear it,” She said primly and reached up to fuss with his hair, putting it back from where she’d messed it up. Then she sat back again and looked at him with a fierce glint in her eye, “Now, tell me about this plan of yours to make everyone better.”

“Well, that’s an oversimplification, but I suppose essentially that is the goal. To make everyone well enough to keep moving on, and to help us as a whole move forward from the war in a positive and productive way.” Draco said and took an eager bite of the new scone. The chocolate burst out, still hot and gooey, over his tongue and he felt a small thrill go up his spine at the sensation.

Pansy rolled her eyes and took a sip of the cup she must have picked up when she went to the counter. “You sound like Snape.” Then she frowned and laughed a little. “Well, no, you’re far too optimistic sounding for Snape, but something about the way you’re speaking--” she broke off and traced her finger around the saucer on the table. “So how do you want to start this company?” She asked, changing the subject. It seemed just as difficult for her to dwell on Severus as it was for Draco.

“Well, we’ll need to establish a place for the brewing, and work on the potions I already have notes on from their brewers to tweak into something more useable on a daily basis, and that is safe for public consumption.”

“Mm, yeah, don’t want to start selling highly addictive potions and get in trouble with the ministry.” Pansy nodded. “Who else are you going to get to help?”

“Blaise won’t be hard to convince, but I don’t think it’ll be a large operation at first. Should it prove to be successful, then we can look into hiring more.”

Pansy nodded and grabbed Draco’s hand again, “This is a lovely idea, Draco. I’ll be glad to help you out.”

 

\---

 

As most things tend to be, it was hard to start. Draco may have had experience as the defacto head of his year in Slytherin, and he may have seen his father doing business dealings occasionally, but neither of these experiences fully prepared him for the reality of starting and maintaining his own business. First there were licenses he had to apply for and acquire to keep everything above board, then making sure he had a well stocked storeroom to brew from, making sure he was altering the potions in the most beneficial ways, and then the hardest, figuring out how to test them safely. While measuring out quantities of ingredients and understanding how they worked together meant the potions likely worked how they should, without live subjects to test on, Draco could not hope to start mass producing the potions for sale.

What he needed was people who were exhibiting symptoms of depression or post-traumatic stress, who were willing to test the effects of the potions. This, he left up to Pansy, she seemed rather assured that she could get volunteers--and after about two weeks of Draco and Blaise working on perfecting the brews, she came in to the offices they were using as space with a slew of people behind her. All of them willing and able to participate in testing.

Draco was floored that Pansy was able to find so many people not only battling their own demons after the war, but so many willing to come to essentially a den of Slytherins and trust that they were only working for good. He interviewed each of the participants and gave them all different kinds of potions based on what he understood their needs to be, and made each of them sign a waiver that they would see a mind-healer during the duration of taking the potion. He’d spoken in depth with Marisol about this stage, and she agreed it was the wisest course of action. So they’d come up with a list of names of recommended mind-healers to give to each participant so they could be monitored for the duration and make sure that there were no side effects that they had not already thought of.

It went surprisingly well. So well that Draco was vaguely suspicious for a while that someone was taking Felix Felicis. It almost seemed too good to be true that his experimental venture was succeeding. There were only a couple of participants from the first trial that had adverse reactions--he learned one was allergic to the horn of an erumphant and had not known--and aside from that the rest of the participants found themselves more motivated and one had even described it like the clouds had parted enough for her to see the point in continuing on. Draco found it to be such a high to hear these success stories. Not long after the first trials ended, he and Pansy and Blaise all agreed that it would be prudent to start selling their product.

He just wished he could get Harry to see the benefit of trying one of the potions for himself. Harry had been very supportive of Draco’s new venture, and like when Draco had been working on the school with Hermione and the others, he tended to find his way to the potions labs just to watch Draco and Blaise work. While he was doing much better, socializing more, and did not shadow Draco as much at home--he had made no advances to make Grimmauld more inhabitable, and Draco was worried that this lack of interest showed a complacency he had never seen in Harry before. Surely the boy who was always getting into trouble, fighting with him, and going on adventures would not be so complacent? At least, that is what Draco thought and why he worried about Harry’s seeming apathy about his own home. But, he supposed, it was enough for now that Harry overall seemed much happier with himself and in general. Just as he could sometimes find Pansy hovering by his elbow, trying not to show her worry over him, he was still worried over Harry’s recovery. Draco just wished that Harry would take the help he offered, but as Marisol had told him many times, he could not force others to take steps he deemed necessary, they needed to move at their own pace and figure out what worked for them. Even if he found it frustrating. Even if he thought he knew better, it was better as a friend to just be there to support his friends than try to prove himself right.

So he continued to support Harry as he went from auror training into partnering as a field agent with Ron, even though he knew that Harry wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be an auror. It wasn’t about him, it was about Harry, and Draco could respect that--even if it was hard for him.

 

\---

 

It was a year after the company was founded, what Draco had wanted to call Malfoy and Co. but eventually agreed upon call it, Fresh Stars, on Pansy’ insistence about something kind of like fresh starts, but just a little different. Draco had rolled his eyes at her when she’d first pitched it, but then Blaise had jumped on the idea and he’d been outvoted. Then they’d had the _brilliant_  idea that the logo for the company should be the Draco constellation. Which was how Draco became the head of a company that he always wanted to laugh at when someone mentioned the name, or when he saw the company logo. Sometimes he despaired for the the friends he had.

Since the company had become such a success in the past year, they had an ever lengthening list of clients whom they’d helped, and an even longer list of new clients waiting for a consultation, Pansy had decided that they needed to have a party to celebrate. Draco and Blaise both agreed, and now Draco found himself standing off to the side in his own living room as Pansy ordered his house elves around, making sure that everything was perfect.

Harry must have gotten better at his stealth skills, for from one instant to the next there was no one near Draco and then Harry was there, leaning into Draco’s space. “Looks like it’ll be fun,” Harry said in a whisper, he was so close Draco could feel Harry’s breath on his neck.

“Hmm, yes, well it has been a while since she’s thrown a party.” Draco agreed with a nod and turned to face Harry better. “Though, I am a little worried she’s going to go overboard.”

Harry let out a sharp laugh at that, “Pansy?” he said, eyes crinkling in mirth in that fetching way that had Draco’s heart speeding in his chest. “I think you can count on that.” Harry agreed with a nod.

It was still strange how well they got along. After Pansy returned, she and Draco ended up spending about as much time together as they used to, and at first Draco was worried about how that might affect his relationship with Harry--he never imagined they’d end up getting along so well. Pansy seemed utterly charmed to find the saviour had no qualms about unleashing his snarky tongue. She’d told Draco about a month after returning that she’d tried to apologize to Harry for trying to turn him over to the Dark Lord, but Harry had just looked at her for a long moment and said at least she was forthcoming about what she wanted from him, then he laughed and said it was fine, he couldn’t hold it against her when they were all scared out of their minds. As much as they both seemed to have brushed that off, Draco knew how much it meant for Pansy to have Harry’s forgiveness. When he’d first invited her over to Grearthon she had taken his arm before he side-alonged her and said in a harsh whisper, “What if he hates me?” and while Draco had tried to reassure her that would be impossible, having Harry’s forgiveness was the balm they had needed to become friends.

Now, Draco stood by the wall next to Harry, watching as Pansy enchanted decorations to change colors along the ceiling, while simultaneously rattling off the menu she wanted for the party to Lark. It was so tempting to just lean more into Harry’s space. Just slide a little bit closer so he could sap up more of Harry’s warmth. Now that Harry was doing better, Draco couldn’t tell if Harry was flirting with him due to interest, or, as he still worried, due to attachment since Draco was there to help him when he was down. Pansy kept needling him to sit down and actually talk to Harry about it--but he was terrified that by being open about his feelings like that he’d push Harry away for good. So he just kept toeing around in this strange limbo where he knew there were friends, but kept feeling like there were about to fall over a cliff into something else together.

Harry did not seem to be experiencing the same turmoil at all. He was rocking back and forth on his heels where he stood next to Draco, unable to keep still in his excitement for the party.

“You’re like a child,” Draco said in an exasperated tone, but he could not help the fond smile from pulling at his lips. Harry’s enthusiasm was quite infectious.

Harry laughed and shrugged, “What can I say, I like parties.”

“I gathered.” Draco said with a sardonic smile.

Then the chime for the entry floo went off and they both straightened and headed for it together, much to Draco’s inner amusement. At the beginning Harry would sulk around, not sure what he should do as a guest, no matter how many times Draco or Narcissa would tell him to make himself at home. But these days he had confidence back in his stride, held his head higher, and would often go to greet the floo, or go over the grocery with Lark, he was finally acting like he belonged here too--and seeing him like that made Draco feel like his chest was being squeezed hard. As much as Draco wanted to encourage Harry to work on Grimmauld and go achieve all the marvellous things that Draco knew he could, he was very much in favour of Harry sticking near him as well. He knew that was an utterly selfish desire so he tried to temper it by supporting Harry as much as he could. Draco knew he wasn’t to keep Harry, but he would enjoy his company as much as he could while Harry was there with him.

They arrived in the foyer in time to see Ginny and Luna dusting themselves off after stepping out of the floo. Ginny spotted them first and broke out into a wide grin, loping over to hug Harry. “Harry!” She said as she hugged him tight, making them both erupt in laughter.

Draco went to greet Luna, who was watching the other two with her customary slightly dazed look, but he could see a smile and knew she thought they were just as silly as he did. “Hello Luna, thank you for coming,” he said once he was closer.

She turned to him, looking a little surprised to see him, but then she grinned. “Draco, I love coming here. This house is so much more friendly than your other one.” She said, and smiled vaguely.

Draco always felt wrong-footed whenever her time in the dungeon in the manor came up, even though she had assured him she did not blame him. He quickly steered the subject elsewhere, “How is integrating a sports section going for the Quibbler?” he asked. After she and Ginny had gotten together and Ginny was recruited straight to the Holyhead Harpies after her seventh year, Luna was a permanent fixture in the stands of every game and had mentioned the last time that Draco had seen her that she was thinking of starting a sports column in the magazine.

Luna’s grin didn’t falter, but her attention returned to her girlfriend before she answered. “Oh, pretty well. It’s a bit hard now as I need to hire someone else to write for the other teams--but it’s all right.”

Ginny released Harry then and turned to Draco, smiling hugely, “Hey Draco!” she said. He didn’t know when he’d gone from Malfoy to Draco, but at some point it had happened, what with seeing her rather often because of Harry, and then Luna, and then Pansy even had become friends with the Gryffindors and would invite them all out together rather often.

“Ginny,” Draco said with a nod and then swept them all out of the foyer and into the living room where Pansy was just adding some finishing touches before everyone else would start pouring in.

 

An hour later and the party was well underway. There was far more alcohol than Draco could remember approving of, he was certain that was all Blaise, especially when he saw Blaise bring in a whole new case of beers in. The crowd had cheered for him, and the case was soon empty again. Draco tried to keep a weathered eye on his guests, attempting to make sure no one drank themselves sick. He had elected not to drink much, only one glass of wine--which Harry and Ron had teased him mercilessly for, saying it was a party and he should at least have a beer if anything, though he noticed neither of them seemed to have moved on from their first bottle--and it was enough for him to feel loose and buzzed. Blaise often made fun of him for being such a lightweight, but he was busy entertaining Parvati in the corner and Draco steered well away from them, not in the mood to hear about what a wimp he was with alcohol.

Instead he made his way around the party, greeting people and making sure they were doing okay and having fun. Until he reached the far end of the living room and found Luna sitting in the window staring up at what they could see of the night sky. He flopped down onto the bench in the window next to her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, setting his wine glass on his knee.

Luna turned slightly away from the window to regard him, “Yes,” she said and smiled, “This is a lovely party. Everyone is having so much fun.”

Draco eyed her for a moment, he still had trouble figuring out what to make of her, she always seemed like she was operating on another plane of existence. Then his attention was caught by a flicker of light in the corner of his eye and he couldn’t help gasping when he realized what he was seeing. Ginny was sitting on Neville’s lap and seemed to be attempting to devour his face. Immediately Draco reached out to take Luna’s hand. “Oh Luna, I’m so sorry,” he said, feeling a hot brewing rage start in the pit of his stomach.

But Luna turned to look at the scene her girlfriend was making, and aside from looking completely unsurprised, she looked pleased. “Oh, good. I’ve been hoping they’d get together finally.”

“What?” Draco asked, pulling his hand back quickly. “But, aren’t you and Ginny--”

“Oh, yes. I very much love her.” Luna said with a nod. “But I think we can all be happy together.” She shrugged and gave Draco a small, secret smile. “Besides, there are things I don’t feel comfortable giving her, that I know she craves.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, Luna was perhaps the most well-adjusted out of all of them. “Sex?” he asked after a beat, figuring that must be the case. They’d spoken before about her asexuality, it wasn’t something he had even heard of until her, and she never minded answering his questions.

“Yes, most of the time.” Luna agreed. “Anyway, it’ll be nice to have another person with us too.” Then she sat back and stared out the window again, ending the conversation.

Draco sat back, leaning against the window so he could keep an eye on the party from here, it wasn’t like he had anything else to say to that. If Luna was happy with the way Ginny and Neville were all over each other, he really couldn’t say anything anyway, even if it seemed completely beyond him to be able to share someone he loved like that. But then--he slated his gaze over to Luna who looked ethereal sitting there in the street light’s glow--she did seem to have a very different perspective on love than he did.

This time when a flash of light caught Draco’s eye, it also caught the entire party’s attention. A large glowing white tiger bounded into the room and stilled in front of Harry and Ron. Whatever message the patronus gave wasn’t something Draco could hear all the way over where he was, but he could see the way both men’s eyebrows went up immediately before their faces hardened in determination. Right after the tiger disappeared Ron bent to say a few words in Hermione’s ear, and Harry was pushing his way through the party, without even realizing it, Draco stood up to make his way over to Harry. They met halfway and Harry looked up at Draco, determined, but with a tinge of regret in his features.

“We’ve been called in for a raid,” Harry explained, looking like he wanted to say something else. “If you keep the party going maybe we’ll be back before it ends?”

Draco shook his head at Harry’s attempt at humor, and swallowed down a spew of worried words that wanted to erupt out of him. “Be careful,” he settled on instead, feeling touched and warm all over that he was who Harry sought out to speak to before leaving.

Harry grinned, “Of course, gotta keep Ron in one piece after all.”

“Oi!” Ron yelled, coming up behind him. "You're the one always running headfirst into danger. Come on," he said and put an hand on Harry's shoulder. "You know Robards hates to wait."

Harry looked over at Ron and nodded. Before he turned to follow him out he shot one last lingering look at Draco, and then they were both gone.  

"Well that sure put a damper on things," Blaise said loudly across the room. There was a sizzle and a pop and then sparkling fireworks exploded like a hundred tiny stars along the ceiling. "Let's liven things up!" He yelled.

The music started up again and everyone thawed from the ways they'd frozen when the tiger patronus bounded into the room. Draco felt a hand at his elbow and he looked over to see Luna standing next to him, her usually vague gaze pinning him down. "You should tell him." She said, apparently while her eyes seemed focused that had no effect on her word choice.

"Tell who?" Draco asked.

"Harry of course," she said, her fingers tightening on his elbow. "Tell him you love him."

"I don't know where you got that idea," Draco said, stalking back to the outer rim of the party. Luna kept a firm hold on his arm and followed, which he figured would happen, he just didn't want to have this particular conversation in the midst of everyone.

Once they were in a more secluded area again, Luna turned to him, her eyes sharp and probing. "It's obvious, is all. Look at what you've done for him."

Draco felt his skin heat. "That wasn't--look, anyone else--any one of the people here would have let Harry stay with them. Or are you saying you wouldn't have?"

"Don't be obtuse Draco, it doesn't suite you. You insisted he stay. You helped bring him back to us. You started an entire company because you wanted to find a way to help him. You've been writing him this long complicated love letter when all you've ever needed to do with Harry is be plain and honest." Luna said, her words sharp and quick, furthering how different she sounded from herself in that moment.

"You." Draco sighed.  "You never talk like this, it's always vague and riddles with you. What'd you do with Luna?" He asked with a small smile, trying to turn his discomfort at how spot on her words were into a joke.

But Luna saw right through that. "You don't understand how frustrating it is to see your and his magic continue to try to curl together, you two are so compatible, and then always you step apart. I realize you have jubiliets fluttering in your ears, and they make it difficult for you to understand some things. So I am trying to be as clear as possible."

Draco blinked. "Wait. You can see our magic?"

Luna’s eyes lost a bit of their focus then, "Of course. Everyone’s magic flashes and hovers around them.” She reached out and ran her hand in the air very close to his shoulder. “Yours is mainly a light electric blue.” Then she smiled at him and said, “It’s quite beautiful.”

Draco looked down at his hand feeling for a moment like maybe he’d see what she saw, but all he saw was his regular old hand, fingers too square and bulky for his thin wrists. He wondered for a second if she was having him on, but Luna was never one to do that sort of thing. Feeling prickly all over, but needing to know, he asked, “What does--” he had to look away from her arresting gaze. “What does Harry’s look like?” Draco knew he was blushing, but if she could see the magic people had, he was so curious about Harry’s that he felt parched with the need to know.

A moment passed where she was quiet, and then Luna made a soft humming sound, and when she spoke Draco could hear the amusement in her tone. “He is bright, like warm sunshine. Yellows and white. When you two are near each other your magic looks like a sunrise together.”

Draco felt his throat tighten at her words. It was, as it always was, so hard to keep a damper on his hope that anything could happen between them. Perhaps though, perhaps if Luna really could see their magic and it blended so well together--but no, hope could only lead to disappointment. He was a close friend to Harry, and as he told Pansy ages ago, he was perfectly fine with that. Even on the days when he’d catch Harry helping Lark in the kitchen with the sun filtering in through the windows and playing golden patterns on his skin. Even on the times when he’d get Harry to laugh, that unbidden laugh of his when he’d throw his head back and his eyes would crinkle up at the sides, and he’d be gasping so hard his body would shake with laughter but no sound would come out. Even then. Especially then, Draco reminded himself that it was a gift to be this close to Harry as he was. Hoping and wishing for more was playing with fire, and he’d had more than enough of that for his lifetime.

“You’ll work it out Draco,” Luna said and patted his arm. He looked up in time to see her smiling vaguely at him again before she wandered away.

As it tended to happen, Draco felt slightly more confused after speaking to Luna than he did before. Shaking himself back to the present, Draco decided to go in search of Pansy. Perhaps she could help him stay grounded. That thought made him chuckle at himself, Pansy was rarely good at keeping herself grounded, much less anyone else.

She was over on one of the couches in a deep conversation with Anthony, and didn’t even look up when Draco neared so he decided to leave her to it. He was still feeling wrong-footed after talking to Luna and didn’t feel up for whatever they seemed to be debating about. After working with Anthony more than once while they were restoring Hogwarts, Draco was rather familiar with how vehement Anthony would get about being right about something. While that could be fun to debate with and play devil’s advocate to on occasion, it wasn’t something Draco wanted to engage in at present.

He ended up wandering around the party again, checking on his guests and the snacks and refreshments--even though he knew the elves had that completely under control, it gave him peace of mind to check himself. While making his way through clusters of people chatting he came upon Hermione, who was sitting off to the side near the snacks, her nose in a book.

Draco came and sat down next to her, putting pressure on the top of the book with his fingers until it started to tip in her hands. When she finally looked up at him, completely annoyed, he made no attempt to hide his smirk. “Reading at a party. Really, Hermione, are we that boring?” he asked, mock offended.

She raised her eyebrows and closed her book, nearly snapping Draco’s fingers between the pages. “I would rather get ahead on my reading when I can,” she explained.

It was then that Draco was able to read the title of her book: Wizarding Law and the Family: What You Need To Know. “A bit of light reading then?” he asked. There could be a multitude of reasons for reading such a wide topic, he wondered why she was reading it at all, much less right now.

“Yeah, sort of,” Hermione sighed. She settled back in her chair and set the book between her leg and the arm of the chair. “I’m trying to read up on child endangerment laws and their ilk. There’s a rather disappointing lack of laws about child safety from what few books I can find that even barely touch on the subject. It’s so frustrating.” She reached up and tugged at one of her curls absently, stretching it out and releasing it, and then repeating the action.

“Are you looking to become a solicitor or something?” Draco could see her as a fierce storm descending upon the wizengamot and demanding they change all the laws she took offense with. He was pretty sure she’d find a way to get her way if she became one, and he wasn’t sure that’d be an entirely bad thing.

Hermione shook her head, “No--” she frowned. “Actually, I hadn’t thought of it. I just want to see if there would have been any legal way to get Harry out of the situation he was forced into as an infant.” She released the curl for the last time and when she looked at Draco fully her eyes were wide and imploring. “There’s doubtless so many more orphaned children now, and if we don’t have a system set up to protect them, who’s to say what can happen? We can’t have another Voldemort on our hands.” And then quieter, “We can’t.”

He understood. Harry wasn’t incredibly forthcoming about his upbringing, but it wasn’t hard to determine that he’d been abused as a child, in many heartbreaking ways. “I don’t know that we really have any laws to protect children like that,” he said. He was pretty sure they didn’t really, he’d never heard of anything about children in abusive homes. It was certainly a glaring hole in their government system though.

“I’ve been figuring that out,” Hermione said with a displeased sound. “It’s absolutely ridiculous that any kind of society as advanced as ours would not put laws into place to protect their future generations.”

“We still use candles for lighting and wear robes, when just trousers have been in style for decades. We’re not the most advanced people around.” Draco said a little teasingly. It was all true, but this was a party, and as much as he agreed with her he’d rather she not get very worked up about this right now. He made a mental note to see about possible connections his mother might know of within the ministry to help Hermione.

Hermione let out a small laugh. “And what would you know about current muggle trends then?”

Draco sat up a little straighter saying huffily, “Why I will have you know I know many things about trends all over the world.” When he caught Hermione’s sardonic eye, he smirked again. “Harry might have helped,” he admitted.

“ _Might_  have.” Hermione repeated with disbelief and broke out into laughter.

Having succeeded in getting her to relax more and laugh instead of sitting over here so seriously, Draco stayed with Hermione talking about other things. He mentioned Luna telling him about being able to see magic, and was only a little surprised when Hermione started off on how she’d read about that phenomenon before--it took one very sensitive to the way magical power interacts with nature in order to be able to see what is essentially the aura of magic around a person. He did not tell her about what Luna said about his and Harry’s magic, and forgot about it slightly as they spoke about theories on where magic actually came from. They discussed ideas on how much of it was from within themselves and how much of it was inherited and destined for them, even though both of them vehemently disagreed with the idea of destiny, especially now, it was the simplest term to sum up the idea that magic could possibly be a slightly sentient force, choosing who to stick itself to.

Hermione completed rejected that idea. That something without a brain could think seemed to go beyond the way she viewed the world, and Draco couldn’t blame her. The idea that magic could be a thinking living entity that bestowed itself among humans seemed slightly ridiculous and out of place. However, Draco did wonder where it came from in the beginning, and why some people were born with it while others were not.

They were in the middle of talking about how it could be possibly encoded in the genes, a term Draco had become more familiar with as he studied muggle science texts when he was studying the effects of different substances on the brain, when the fireplace in the room flared to life with a loud _whoosh_. Draco stood immediately. This fireplace was not used for floo or firecalls unless there was an emergency and no one could make it to the correct fireplaces in time. He could feel Hermione stand up next to him. In a few quick strides he was standing in front of the hearth in time to see Ron’s face floating in the flames.

“Ron!” Hermione said with a gasp. “What’s wrong?” she asked, kneeling down in front of the fire.

“I’m fine.” he said, quick to assure her. His gaze wandered over the crowd still in the room for a moment and in that time Draco wondered if the raid had ended and he was just calling to check if the party was still ongoing. Until Ron spoke again. “It’s Harry. He got hit by a curse while we were closing in on the lab in the building.” He let out a rattling breath and they could see his hand come and displace his hair. “I don’t--they haven’t told me much.” he finished, looking up at Hermione with eyes that even through the fire, Draco could tell were full of pain.

“We’re coming,” Draco said firmly. He would take no arguments. Hermione was shaking slightly beside him and seemed unable to say anything, and he wouldn’t stay here while Harry was in the hospital, condition unknown. Hermione looked up at him, fear invading her countenance, but he could see slight relief in her eyes.

“All right, I’m up in emergency of Spell Damage. First waiting room.” Ron said tersely. He held Hermione gaze for a moment before his head disappeared in the flames.

Draco put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, squeezed, and then helped her stand up again. “Come on, we should go.”

She nodded. “Not Harry,” he heard her say quietly as he reached up on the mantle for the jar of floo powder.

Pansy was suddenly at his elbow, her hand warm on his arm. “Draco, I’ll take care of the party.” she said and pushed him forward slightly.

He nodded, feeling like he was thinking through syrup. Everything seemed so slow and far away, even though he was moving it seemed slightly useless. “Thanks,” he said. Then he threw the floor powder into the hearth and called out, “St. Mungo’s,” before he shoved Hermione through the flames and quickly followed her over.


	15. Chapter 15

They tumbled through the floo and arrived in the reception of St. Mungo's, it was a frenzy of activity that almost swept them away. But they managed to break free of the hubbub and made their way up to emergency spell damage, where they found Ron looking worried and wrecked in one of the waiting room chairs. He had his scarlet auror robes on, and they were torn and singed in places, his face was full of soot and scratches and it looked like a stray spell must have singed off a clump of hair.

Hermione saw him and threw herself at him, wrapping Ron up in what looked like a suffocating hug. Draco approached and gingerly sat in a nearby chair while Hermione smothered and worried over Ron. "Are you sure you're all right? What happened? Any word on Harry? Shouldn't you get that looked at?" Hermione shot question after question at Ron, gently prodding a gash in his arm with her fingers as she fretted over him.

"I'm fine, 'Mione, it's just a small scratch. They haven't come back with word on Harry yet." Ron squirmed under her attention, but seemed to be preening under it as well. But now he frowned. "It was my fault. I didn't do a full check before I went into the hall, but Harry saw the witch just as she cast at my back and he pushed me aside.” Ron sighed heavily. “And now he’s in there, struck by some unknown spell because not only was I too stupid to check for myself, but I didn’t even hear what she cast!”

“It’s not your fault, Ron,” Hermione said, trying to appeal to him, but Ron only bristled at her words.

Draco shifted, watching them, and cleared his throat. “She’s right, Harry decided to push you aside without a proper shield in place, it isn’t your fault he’s so reckless.”

Ron looked over at Draco with a quizzical expression on his face, “How’d you know he didn’t put a shield up?”

“Do _you_ think that there’s a witch out there strong enough to cast through a shield cast by Harry?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was pretty certain that if Harry had put even a portion of the strength of his magic behind a spell it would be difficult for a regular witch or wizard to get through.

Hermione let out a shocked, anxious laugh at that. “I’m sorry,” she said, covering her face with her hand. “It’s just--you’re right." she shook her head. "If Harry was up against an opponent who was unfamiliar with his power and how he uses it, it's doubtful they'd be able to break through a shield of his." Then she frowned. "And it'd be just like him to worry more about saving someone else over protecting himself."

"Yeah." Ron agreed with a sigh. "We tried to get past that in training, but obviously it didn't take."

Draco wrapped his arms around himself. It wouldn't be so bad if they knew what spell Harry was hit with. Not knowing meant he was mentally going through every violent spell that he knew and what sort of damage they could cause to the victim. "So we just have to wait," he said morosely. Then was surprised when Rob clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"He's Harry. " Ron said, but the smile he tried to put on did nothing to the grim shadow he had over his face. “He’ll be fine.”

He knew that Ron was just trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Draco, and it didn’t really help. It was good perhaps, to remember that Harry had come through so much already and lived to tell the tale, but thinking of that only made Draco worry that this time would be the time Harry’s luck ran out. It didn’t particularly help that Ron attempting to comfort him was only throwing Draco for a loop.

And so they sat there, tense and worried, waiting for a healer to come into the waiting room to tell them what had happened to Harry.

There were no windows in the waiting room, and Draco was almost positive the clock on the wall was running out of sync with actual time, so it was exceptionally difficult to tell how long it had been. It felt like it must have been hours by now. Others in the waiting room had come and gone. At some point Draco looked over to Ron and Hermione and Ron had dozed off, his head pillowed on Hermione’s shoulder. When Hermione caught Draco’s eye she gave him an exasperated but stern look, letting him know without words not to make any noise.

Draco shrugged and twirled his wand between his fingers, it was comforting to feel the hum of magic it gave off and reminded him of when he took Harry to get his new wand. Then he eyed the uncomfortable chairs the others were sitting in and with a wave of his wand he transfigured them into seating much better suited for a long wait. He didn’t want to think about how long it could end up being.

Hermione shot him a grateful look and whispered, “Thank you.”

Draco accepted her gratitude with a nod and stood up. He couldn’t just sit there anymore. He needed to be doing something. Sitting and waiting for news had never been a strong suit of his, Draco knew he wasn’t incredibly patient--and this was Harry.  _Harry_. And Draco felt like with each passing moment his heart was splitting into even smaller pieces as he waited to hear about Harry, as he waited to hear if the news would shatter his heart. Draco knew he wasn’t a particularly strong man. Had had no illusions to the contrary, it was part of why he preferred to have Vincent and Greg close by while in school. In the past couple of years he’d had to confront how weak he was emotionally as well. If the healers returned with bad news about Harry--if the worst should happen, Draco was certain he would not be able to survive it. Even just knowing that Harry had died once, that he had been so close to never having Harry in his life, it made Draco feel cold and like something inside of him was crumbling down.

He paced the waiting room until he couldn’t take it anymore. Even though he wanted to be there right when the healer would come, he couldn’t stand being cooped up, waiting the news, waiting like he had been in the manor during that horrible year. With an apologetic look at Hermione he bolted from the room and down to the cafeteria. Tea. He just needed some tea to help calm his rattling nerves. They weren’t so strained yet that he felt he needed his potion, but he could feel the beginning trembling in his hands that signalled he was about to lose control.

So, tea. Tea would help. And perhaps a biscuit. While in line in the cafeteria Draco told himself he’d get a cup of tea and something to eat and sit down there for a bit, just for a change from the waiting room. But by the time he had obtained his tea, and a second for Hermione, he felt like he’d been away too long. What if the healer had already come and given them the news? What if he were to get out of the lift to the waiting room to find them inconsolable? What if he never got the chance to really talk to Harry? About how Draco felt about him? What if he was too late?

He couldn’t bear it. He held the burning tea cups in his hands and hurried back up to the waiting room. It looked as though time had forgotten the room after he left. It was exactly the same as it had been, and Draco felt that didn't bode well. He handed a surprised Hermione the other cup of tea and transfigured the chair he'd been sitting in into something more comfortable before returning to it.

Then he sat. And he waited. It felt the same as it had before, but this time at least he had tea to burn his tongue on and use a way to keep his mind off anything.

When the doors to the treatment halls finally opened and a hassled looking witch in green robes stepped out, Draco shot right out of his chair. Her expression softened as she took in their ragtag group: Ron was snoring and curled up on Hermione’s lap while Hermione’s head was tossed back and she must have fallen asleep.

“You’re here for Mr. Potter?” the witch asked, as she stepped closer into the room.

"Yes." Draco said immediately and looked back at Ron and Hermione who had both jerked awake as soon as she'd spoken. "Please, how is he?" He asked desperately, unable to keep himself from shuffling a few steps closer to her.

She seemed to take pity on him, or perhaps she was just very empathetic, for she gave him a small smile that had hope and relief blossoming in Draco's chest before any words even passed her lips. "We've been able to reverse the spell damage, and have given him blood replenishing potions. Mr. Potter just needs to rest now and he'll need time to recover. A toxicity curse is not an easy one to survive, but your caster was able to join it with a slow wasting curse." The healer pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's just good we were able to catch it when we did. Terribly difficult, wasting curses."

"But he's going to be okay?" Hermione asked behind Draco. He had wanted to ask and get reassurance, but when the healer had mentioned that had had been doubly cursed with such sinister spells, his mouth had dried up and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Oh yes," the healer nodded. "He's a strong boy. He will need to take it easy for a few weeks though. No matter how strong he is, bouncing back from the curses he was under will take time. But it looks like he has some good people to look after him." She smiled at the three of them.

Ron was on his feet in a second and right at Draco's back, leaning eagerly toward the witch. "Can we see him?"

"Mind, he is asleep. And visiting hours were over ages ago." She looked stern and for a moment Draco was sure they'd be denied, but instead her stern expression cleared and she said. "Well, come along then." And she went right back out the way she came with Draco and the other two scrambling up and after her.

She took them down a long winding hallway, and as they walked Draco could peek into some of the rooms where he saw different witches and wizards in beds, some surrounded by healers, some just appeared to be dozing. Then, finally, she stopped at a closed door and turned to face them.

“As I said, he is resting right now. Should he wake while you are in there, please do not make him stressed.” She admonished them, and then opened the door.

Draco wasn’t surprised to see Harry was in a private room. He would have been surprised to find that St. Mungo’s put the wizarding world’s saviour into a communal room where he’d likely be harangued and have his recovery hindered. The room was big enough for the bed, a table next to it, and two chairs and had a window that was likely charmed, since Draco was nearly certain it wasn’t a calm sunny day outside. His attention was only momentarily diverted from the bed, as seemed to be the story of his life, Draco’s attention always seemed to be magnetized for Harry. And right now Harry was lying prone on the bed, breathing deeply. His skin looked sallow and ill, and without his glasses he looked so much younger, so much more  _fragile_. Draco took hesitant steps forward into the room, his feet feeling like they were made of lead. The healer said Harry would be okay. Draco just had to keep reminding himself that as he looked at the sleeping form on the bed. Harry would be okay.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed behind him and then was swiftly inside the room and by Harry’s bedside in half a moment. She took one of the chairs and scooted it close so she could sit and hold on to Harry’s hand. She let out a small, humourless laugh. “I wish you’d stop this.”

Ron stepped over to stand beside her, he looked down at the bed and Harry’s unmoving form, his face a mask of sadness. “You’ll pull through mate, and when you wake up we’re gonna make sure you actually rest.”

Draco stood, just a few steps in from the doorway, watching them and wondering just how many times the two of them had waited like this for Harry to come back to them. His chest tightened when he thought of how, if he was to continue to be friends with Harry and be close to him, then he would be looking at a future of waiting like this with them. He could only hope that it wouldn’t happen too frequently.

While Hermione and Ron were talking quietly on the farther side of the bed, Draco slowly made his way to the side without the chairs. He stopped, standing about level with Harry’s chest, and looked down at Harry. Half of him wanted to grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him until he woke up, just so Draco could yell at him about putting himself recklessly in danger when _he’s a wizard, he could have used magic to protect himself_. The more rational side of Draco was luckily in control, however, and he just ended up letting out a small, shaky breath. It was frightening to see Harry like this. It was different from seeing him huddled up in his bed, depressed. This was Harry, weak and helpless, and standing before him as Draco was, made this roaring feeling of protectiveness overcome him. All he wanted was to make sure that Harry would recover, and make sure he didn’t end up like this ever again.

But he couldn’t. Harry was an auror, and part of that meant throwing himself into dangerous situations, and Draco couldn’t begrudge Harry doing what he felt he needed to do--even if sometimes Draco was sure that it wasn’t quite what Harry _wanted_. Though, they had never spoken of it again after that one afternoon in the sitting room, so perhaps since Harry was now on active duty and not in training, he changed his mind. Draco promised himself he’d find out.

For now though, he felt like his lungs were burning just looking at Harry, and it was like he was floundering to find the ground. Then his attention caught on Harry’s right hand where it was resting on top of the light blankets that covered him, and like he had done for months in his mind, the sight of Harry’s hand brought a wave of feeling _rightness_ upon Draco. This time he was the one reaching out. This time he grasped Harry’s hand tightly within his own, finding his anchor in the pads of Harry’s fingers. This time it was Harry who was the one that needed help, and Draco finally felt like he might be strong enough to provide it.

He did not know how long he stood there, squeezing Harry’s hand like he could will wellness into Harry just by touching him, but it must have been a while because suddenly Ron’s hand was on his arm, breaking Draco out of his reverie.

“Hey, we’re gonna go. Hermione wants me to get checked out, even though I keep telling her I'm  _fine_." Ron said with a quirk of a grin that only widened when Hermione stood, spluttering and shaking her head. Ron just grinned at her and then turned back to Draco. "You gonna stay?" He asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.

Draco looked at Ron's earnest and worried face for a long moment and then nodded. "Yes. I'm staying." He said quietly and squeezed Harry's lax hand.

Ron nodded like that was the answer he'd been expecting. "All right. We can clear it with the staff so they don't tell you to leave, cause of visiting hours and all that rot."

"Perks of being the saviour?" Draco asked with a smirk.

"Something like that," Ron said with a shrug. “We’ll be back in the morning, unless he wakes before then.”

Draco nodded, “All right.” he said, hoping that Harry would wake before morning, but knowing it was unlikely with the recovery he needed.

Hermione levitated the other chair over to the side of the bed Draco still stood at, and transfigured it into something more comfortable for him. When she caught his eye she grinned, “Just think of it as paying you back, yeah?” Then she leaned over to brush her fingers through Harry’s hair, her expression melting into something so very tender. “We’ll be back, Harry.” She said quietly and then stood. Taking Ron by the arm, she escorted them both out of the room with a wave and a quiet goodbye for Draco.

Alone with Harry now, Draco sunk into the plush and comfortable chair Hermione had transfigured for him. It was far more squishy than he would have chosen to conjure for himself, but there was a certain kind of comfort to be taken from being practically absorbed by a piece of furniture. Right now it felt a little like a soft hug, something he had not realized he was craving rather badly. Draco scooted the chair closer to Harry’s bed so he could relax back into it but still keep his hand clasped around Harry’s. A small irrational part of him was afraid that if he let go, that Harry wouldn’t wake up again. He knew it was foolish, and that just holding Harry’s hand really did nothing to help Harry recover, but he also didn’t want to stop. Holding Harry’s hand loosely in his own, Draco relaxed against the back of the chair.

He jerked awake an indeterminate amount of time later when he heard a groaning come from Harry. Draco wiped his free hand over his face, trying to swipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He had not realized he’d fallen asleep, but he could feel the call of slumber pulling at his bones. But then Harry made another noise and Draco sat up straight, realizing that the noise was from Harry and becoming alert immediately. Harry was stirring in the bed, the hand that Draco was holding tightened and loosened in gripping him back. Then Harry opened his eyes and looked around, looking very disoriented and lost as he peered out into the room.

When his gaze landed on Draco his eyes widened. “Draco?” he rasped out, his voice scraggly and raw, making Draco wonder if Harry had screamed in pain before passing out.

“Yeah,” Draco said, unable to keep from smiling in relief. _Harry was awake._  He took Harry’s glasses from the table by the bed and gently put them on Harry’s face. When Harry’s eyes focused on him Draco felt suddenly flustered and like he’d taken far too intimate a liberty and immediately sat back down in his chair, holding his hands tightly together in his lap. He cleared his throat, “How are you feeling?”

Harry started to try to sit up and winced, hissing in pain. “I’ve been better,” he said with a small laugh before lowering himself back down with a groan. He turned his head on the pillow so he could look at Draco. “What happened?”

Draco couldn’t help pursing his lips in response. He shook his head, once, shortly. “You were foolishly reckless,” he said with a short breath. Then he closed his eyes, unable to look at Harry as he continued to speak. “You could have died. Whoever the witch was who cursed you, she’d aimed to kill anyone who got in her way--but in a slow, and utterly painful way.” Now Draco opened his eyes to see Harry staring at him, looking surprised and a little horrified. Good. He should be. Perhaps he’d think twice about running into danger without a shield next time. “Do you know what wasting sickness is?”

"No," Harry said, his voice still hoarse.

Draco conjured him a glass of water while he explained. “Back when people were dying from the plague something else was infecting witches and wizards. We also called it the plague, for it seemed to be similar, and similarly without a reason or cure. Our numbers greatly declined during that time as whole families were befallen by the sickness. They would get weary and weaker, holing up in their homes until no one saw them anymore. It was a common, but horrible occurrence during that time for people to visit a house of their nearest magical neighbor, only to find everyone in the home dead, having succumbed to the wasting disease.”

“I don’t understand, what does it do?” Harry asked and took a greedy gulp of water.

“It infects your magic. Right down to your magical core. It’s a sickness that latches onto your power and slowly eats away at you.” Draco said, feeling a bit like there were bugs crawling all over his skin just thinking about the sickness. He saw Harry shudder and was a bit relieved to know he wasn’t the only one affected. “Luckily, we discovered ways to prevent it, and even stop it if we can get the infected person to treatment quickly enough, but--” Draco swallowed hard, trying not to think about what might have happened to Harry. “Even now, if it has taken hold in one who is infected, healers can’t do anything but make it less painful.” Draco finished with a harsh breath and looked out the window, he couldn’t look at Harry in that moment, feeling too overcome with the thought of what could have happened.

There was a shuffling sound of fabric moving from the bed and then Harry’s hand clumsily flew into Draco’s field of vision before it clamped down on his shoulder. Draco looked back over at Harry in surprise to see Harry staring at him, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” Harry said quietly.

Draco let out a choked laugh, shaking his head. “I’d feel better if you were sorry for recklessly putting yourself in that kind of danger.”

Harry pulled his hand away, stung, “I had to save Ron,” he said quietly. “Is he okay?”

“Without a shield up?” Draco asked incredulously. Harry was shrinking in on himself, looking like he was trying to curl into a ball while also not letting Draco know how much pain he was in--but the strain around his eyes, and Draco’s own knowledge about how the wasting sickness eats at the nerves, gave Harry away. Draco leaned over and took Harry’s hand in his, snagging it up from where Harry was gripping his blanket tightly. “Ron is fine Harry. He and Hermione were here for a while, until she insisted he get checked out. I understand that you wanted to make sure Ron was okay, Harry. But if you could spare some of that worry for your own well-being, the rest of us would be grateful.” Harry’s hand was shaking in his, and Draco let out a long breath through his teeth--all he really wanted to do was rip Harry a new one for being so foolish. He was a wizard! Casting protection wasn’t that hard. But the healer’s admonitions rang loudly in Draco’s mind and he held his tongue instead, it wouldn’t do to stress Harry right now. So he tried to comfort him instead.

“Thanks,” Draco said in a quieter voice than before, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Harry gave him that little quirk of a grin that only lifted half his lips and squeezed Draco’s hand back. “Me too. I am sorry though, I’ll try to remember to put up a shield before I go in for a raid next time.”

Draco nodded, appeased. “I should get your healer, I’m sure they will want to check on you now that you’re awake.”

“Okay,” Harry said with a nod, but when Draco started to pull away so he could stand and fetch the healer, Harry’s grip on his hand tightened. “Not--Not yet though.” Harry said haltingly, looking up at Draco with wide eyes. “Will you just sit with me for a bit?”

Draco slowly sat back down. “Okay,” he said, and noticed how Harry relaxed only once he knew Draco was going to stay.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled and turned over to lay on his side so he could face Draco. “I know they should come in and run tests.” He wrinkled his nose. “But I just hate being in the hospital.”

Biting back the retort that Harry should take care of himself better so he would avoid ending up in here, Draco gave him a small smile. “It always smells so weird here,” he commiserated.

“That,” Harry agreed with a laugh, “And the beds are so still and scratchy. And it’s always so silent here.”

“Those would be the privacy and silencing charms,” Draco commented dryly.

Harry let out a sharp laugh. “I know, but it’s so quiet it’s unnerving. You know?” Draco nodded, it was always weird how quiet it could be inside of a silent bubble. Harry burrowed into his scratchy blankets and blinked up at Draco. “So how was the party?” he asked.

While he knew that Harry was just trying to put off the inevitable of having the healers come in and examine him, Draco didn’t mind entertaining him. Even though he had not partied as recklessly as would allow for some every entertaining stories, which he was sure was what Harry was waiting to hear--he did his best to embellish what had actually gone on. If only so he could see the spark of amusement in Harry’s eyes as he laughed at Draco’s stories.

Draco spun them into big stories, moving on from the party and fabricating other things, just to keep that happy look on Harry’s face. Before he knew it, the night had gone on, and a mediwitch on her rounds popped in, and when she saw that Harry was awake she bustled off to get his healer.

The healer was the same woman who’d escorted Draco to Harry’s room earlier, and her wide face softened when she saw Draco sitting there, speaking softly to Harry. “I’m glad to see you awake, Mr. Potter,” she said in a matronly tone. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Mr. Malfoy here to leave while we run some tests on you, but he can return once we’re done.”

Harry’s happy and opened expression immediately closed and the room seemed all the gloomier for the loss. “Okay,” he said flatly. “You’ll come back though?” he asked Draco when Draco stood and transfigured his chair back to make it easier for the healer to get around the room.

“Of course,” Draco was quick to reassure Harry. “I need to tell Hermione and Ron that you are okay and awake anyway. I’m sure they’re eager to see you as well.”

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly.

Draco shot him another smile and then left the room under the healer’s watch. He didn’t know how long her examination of Harry would go for, so he planned to go home and shower after he got in contact with Ron and Hermione. Then he could return to the hospital feeling a little better. Harry was going to be fine, and Draco would do all he could to make sure that Harry’s recovery went as painlessly as possible.

When he flooed home he nearly stumbled when he saw that his house was still full of people. Were they seriously still partying after that news? Pansy said she would take care of it, and he thought she meant she’d send everyone home. He stomped further into the house, determined to find her, when after taking just a few steps in someone’s head popped up--it looked like everyone had decided to sleep there as they were all laying on top of each other in weird human piles.

“He’s back!” A voice called, and then suddenly everyone seemed to be rousing and staring avidly at Draco.

He took an involuntary step back from being the centre of all that attention.

“Draco!” Luna called as she walked over to him. “How is Harry?” she asked, and all the eyes on Draco seemed to intensify in their attention on him--so that must be why everyone had stayed.

It was strangely touching to see that they were all so close now that they refused to separate until they heard that Harry would be okay. Draco was glad that he was able to deliver the positive news. “He’s going to be fine.” He answered Luna with a smile. “The healers say he will need time to recover, he was hit with a nasty doubled curse, but they were able to reverse it. It’s just that his body will need time to get back to functioning normally. So they said to keep him away from as much stress as possible for now.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Pansy’s voice came from the crowd, and he finally spotted her over by the windows, looking slightly frumpled but still somehow pulling it off like she’d always intended it. It was a relief to see her. As much as Draco felt charmed that they'd all stayed, it was good to know Pansy remained to possibly keep order.

"Yes, he'll be fine." Draco said, feeling himself believe the words a little more after saying them out loud. "Now I need to firecall Hermione and Ron and let them know."

“Why didn’t you just send them a patronus from the hospital?” Ginny asked, coming closer to Luna, looking at Draco earnestly.

Draco took a startled half-step backward. “Oh,” he said, not sure how to say this in front of everyone. He’d never been able to cast a fully corporeal patronus, the only kinds that could carry messages. It wasn’t something he wanted to be public knowledge. “Well if you’d like to, you can,” he said to Ginny, trying to convey with his eyes that he was not going to answer her question out here.

She blinked at him for a moment and then shrugged, “All right,” and then turned and cast her patronus, and effortless movement and extension of herself that had Draco burning with envy. Why was it so difficult for him when it seemed like something so many from his year and below had mastered so easily? He watched as her glowing horse cantered through the room and disappeared into the far wall. Draco nodded his thanks to her and she raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin in an obvious request to talk to him outside of the crowded room.

“All right you lot, Draco’s been kind enough to let us crash here, but I’m sure he wants to get cleaned up and we’ve all got beds far more comfortable than his floor.” Pansy said loudly, startling the few who were still dozing. She caught Draco’s eye and gave him a long look before she started trudging around the room and kicking people who were not moving. He smiled faintly at her antics and wondered, not for the first time, how he had survived those months without her right after the war.

Draco shook himself and walked over to the office across the hall, trusting that Ginny would follow. He wasn’t to be disappointed, right after he stepped into the room she burst in after him, making him wonder if perhaps the Weasleys in general were just incapable of a quieter and stealthy approach. It would account for why they never were sorted into Slytherin.

“So.” Ginny said, taking a cursory look around the room before crossing her arms over her chest and peering at him. “Why _didn’t_  you send your patronus to them?”

“If you’re thinking I had some ulterior motive all along, I’m afraid I will just disappoint you,” Draco said. He could only resist restlessly fooling with his hair by rubbing at the back of his neck--and then he stopped when he realized exactly where he picked up that habit from, _Harry_. “I can’t cast a corporeal patronus,” he said with a small shrug and could not continue looking into her fiery brown eyes.

Ginny was silent for a long moment. Long enough to make Draco even more nervous and he finally looked at her again to see her staring at him looking gobsmacked. “You can’t?” she asked in the quietest voice he’d ever heard from her.

“No, I’ve never been able to cast it successfully.” Draco shifted on his feet, not wanting to talk about this anymore, but also not really wanting to talk to anyone since all he’d wanted to do was take a shower so he could get back to St. Mungo’s quickly. Ginny was staring at him with her mouth formed into an “o” of surprise and he really wished she’d stop.

She seemed to sense his growing discomfort and visibly shook herself. “I just thought--” then she closed her mouth and shook her head again. “Nevermind. What happened to Harry, anyway?”

Draco let out a rush of air, slightly grateful for the change of topic. “He dove in front of a curse meant for Ron without a shield up--”

“Of course,” Ginny said, scoffing.

Draco raised his eyebrow and nodded in agreement. “The witch who attacked him had somehow joined a toxicity curse with a curse to inflict the wasting sickness--” Ginny sucked in an audible breath at that, her eyes wide. “I know, but the healers were able to reverse it and cure him. He just needs to recover now. Or, well, she came in to check on him and run some tests now that he’s awake, that’s why I came back.”

“Oh, well that’s good then,” Ginny said cheerfully. “So they caught it in time.”

“Yes, luckily.” Draco said with a nod. “I need to get changed and then I’ll be heading back,” he hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Would you like to join me when I return?”

Ginny blinked and then smiled, “Of course. I need to ream him for going in without a shield.”

Draco laughed, this, this was why they’d become closer over the last year. She had a biting humor that complimented his well. Much like Harry’s, which was probably why they’d dated in the first place.

He quickly showered and changed and returned downstairs to find everyone else had left save for Ginny, Luna, and Pansy, who all sat waiting for him in the foyer. That was a surprise, if anything he would have expected to meet them at St. Mungo’s, there certainly wasn’t any reason for them to have waited for him--but he found himself glad that they had.

 

As the healer had told them, and Harry himself seemed sure of as soon as he’d awoken, Harry would be fine and just needed time to recover. After they had completed their tests on him they told him he could return home the following day after some more observation. But he would not be allowed to return to work for another month, pending regular check-ups, and he had to be ready to move slower as his energy would not be the same for a long while. His magical core was exhausted from first the infection of both the toxicity curse, that turned his blood toxic to himself and thus made his body attempt to reject it, and from the wasting sickness, and then the reversal of the curses, which took considerable power on his part to fully expel from his body. She’d asked if he had anyone to look after him at home, and at the time Draco was sitting in the room with Hermione, reading over a book on theory of metamorphmagus traits, and Harry had looked right over to Draco before telling the healer that yes, he did. It made Draco feel like his heart was thundering in his chest from happiness, that Harry trusted him and wanted him around like that.

Though, of course, it could have just been Harry logically knowing that Draco would be around since they were in the same house. But Draco chose to believe that Harry wanted to have Draco around to help him recover.

Even if that might be a delusional thing to believe.

Before Harry would be allowed to return home, Draco returned to Grearthon and rounded up the house elves. He briefed them on how they were to keep an eye on Harry and make sure he wasn’t doing anything to tax himself or stress himself out. Once he was sure they all understood, he took Lark aside to talk to her.

“I know that everyone will be doing their best to make sure Harry recovers well, but Lark, I wanted to ask you if you would be okay with being Harry’s personal elf until he recovers?” Draco asked, kneeling down so they were at eye-level.

Lark’s large eyes filled with tears and she started twisting her hands in the fabric of her toga. “Master Draco wants me to work only for Master Harry?”

Draco was taken aback, their elves were never terribly emotional, and he wasn’t sure what to say to keep from offending her by accident. “Yes,” he said slowly, watching her carefully. “Until his healers say that he is well again, he will need you. Do you want to do that?”

“Oh Master Draco!” Lark squeaked. “It would be an honor! To make sure the great Harry Potter gets better.”

Draco smiled at her, “Excellent, I’m glad to hear that, Lark. I knew I could count on you.”

The tears in her eyes overfilled and spilled down her face then. “Of course Master Draco, of course!” Lark bowed so low her nose nearly touched the ground.

He took hold of her shoulders and made her stand upright again, “None of that now, Lark, you know how Harry doesn’t like it when you bow to him.”

Lark sniffed and nodded. “Lark will make sure Harry Potter gets better!” Then with a displacing of air she was gone. Probably to make sure Harry’s room was fit for him to return to.

With a bemused shake of his head, Draco stood again and found his mother waiting for him in the kitchen.

“You’ve briefed the elves then?” Narcissa asked, idly stirring her cup of tea with a wave of her hand as she read over the day’s Prophet.

“Of course. Mum,” Draco said as he took a seat. “Do--” he swallowed and conjured himself a cup of water, drinking some before continuing to speak. “Are you okay with having Harry needing to stay here and recover?”

Narcissa stopped stirring and looked up from her newspaper to catch Draco’s gaze. “My Dragon, Harry is welcome in our home for as long as he needs. Should he need extra care for the indeterminate future, I am happy to help provide it in any way possible.” She reached across the table and took Draco’s hand in hers. “As long as he needs, Draco,” she repeated, her gaze holding weight that Draco could not interpret.

“Thank you, mum.” Draco said and squeezed her hand back, knowing that she was telling him something more, even if he didn’t understand fully what it was at the moment.

 

Keeping Harry at home proved to be more difficult than Draco had expected. Even with the elf-watch he had put into place, Harry kept trying to go out and go flying or, on one memorable occasion that ended up with Lark stunning his feet so he couldn’t step into the floo when he tried to go to work. Draco tried to keep him occupied inside doing low-stress activities like exploding snap or teaching Harry chess so he could have a chance to trounce Ron. His friend often came to visit to play games, or to just chat over tea and sandwiches as well. Even with those sorts of activities, Draco was honestly surprised by how Harry kept trying to do more since he often looked rather drained and exhausted, though Harry wouldn’t admit to it, but Draco could tell he was still very tired from the way his magical core had been taxed from the curses.

After Harry passed out on the couch in the middle of one of their games, Draco decided to bring it up with his mother. Obviously Harry was bored here, but he didn’t know what would be an ideal activity to do with Harry that wouldn’t hinder him getting better.

He found her up in the observatory, reading a book. It was getting chilly out with the coming of winter so the elves had already begun wrapping and charming the plants for them to last through the season. Narcissa was sitting by the tall windows, her form silhouetted by the white sky outside, casting her face in shadow. She put her book down when she heard him approach.

“What is it, Draco?” She asked when he neared.

Draco hated to intrude while she was reading, but he really wanted her input. “I’m worried about Harry,” he began, and Narcissa’s expression softened as she looked at him. “He’s so restless, I think he’s going to hurt himself more trying to do things his body isn’t ready to yet.”

“Oh, my sweet boy.” Narcissa smiled at him. “Have you thought about taking him out to a museum? I’m nearly certain he’s never had the opportunity to appreciate one.” She said with a touch of pain in her eyes, and Draco wondered how much of Harry’s past living with his muggle relatives she knew about.

She was right though, Draco doubted Harry would have ever had the chance to go to one of the museums in the city while he was living with those horrible muggles, and he knew Harry well enough now to know it wasn’t something he would likely have thought to do on his own. It might not help with Harry’s need to go out and do things, but it was surely an activity that would help him feel less trapped inside the house, which Draco felt was likely the cause for a lot of his more outlandish actions.

Draco smiled at his mother, he knew she would have ideas. “Thank you.” he said and then left her to her reading.

After checking on Harry, who was still out cold in the parlour, Draco set about making a few firecalls to find out about the new exhibits in the wizarding side of the British Museum, and getting brochures to help plan their visit. Once Harry was up again, Draco would go over it with him and see if he would be interested in going the following day.

When the curator he was speaking to mentioned how they had just opened an exhibit with some of the only artefacts that survived the burning of the library of Alexandria, Draco knew he’d have to go for a visit, with or without Harry.

Obviously, he’d prefer to go with Harry. Which was why, when Harry came blinking blearily into the office Draco had commandeered as his own, Draco smiled at him, both because he was glad Harry was finally awake, and because Harry looked far too soft and sweet when he’d just awakened, and gestured for him to come inside. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Draco said and waved his hand at one of the seats for Harry to take.

“You were?” Harry asked, looking startled before his face was split nearly in two by a wide yawn. When he finished, he took a seat while grumbling, “I don’t want to be so tired anymore.” He looked over at Draco with wide eyes, “Why aren’t I getting any better?”

“But you are, Harry. Just look at you, you’re looking much healthier and you’re certainly sleeping less these days.” Draco said, trying to bring Harry’s spirits up. Yes, it was taking a while, but it had only been a little over a week, and the healers had anticipated full recovery only after a month. So far Harry seemed to be doing better than their predictions, but as he wasn’t a healer himself, it was rather difficult for Draco to judge. He just knew that in the past two days the lively spark in Harry’s eyes had finally returned over that exhausted pull they had since he’d been cured.

Harry squinted at Draco through his glasses like he was trying to see him properly. “I’m still napping,” he said after an extended beat, his tone snappish and annoyed.

It wasn't the best response, but Draco couldn't help the light laugh that escaped him, Harry just looked so much like an angry surly kitten, still mussed and sleepy from his nap. "It's just been a week Harry, don't worry about it. As long as you stop trying to go flying you'll be fine soon." Harry's glare hardened, but Draco waved his arguments away by presenting him with the brochures for the museum. "There are interesting things to do that don't require you to exhaust yourself. Have you ever been to the wizarding side to the British Museum?"

Harry leaned forward and picked up one of the brochures off the desk, his eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. "No," he breathed. "I didn't know wizards even had museums." He said in an awed and distracted voice as he flipped through the brochure.

Draco scoffed. "Of course we have museums, Harry." He pushed the one detailing the Alexandria exhibit toward Harry. "Look at this one."

"What?" Harry asked as he kept reading, but he also reached out without looking to grab whatever Draco was trying to show him. Draco quirked a smile at Harry's absentminded actions. It looked like they were going to the museum tomorrow.

  
  


“Hermione is going to be so jealous,” Harry said as they made their way through the museum. He leaned in close to Draco, “I didn’t read all of it, how did these books survive the burning of the library?” He asked as they stopped to look at some of the singed books that were on display, charmed to turn the pages at wave of the visitor’s wand, and behind spell proof layers of glass and protection to keep them preserved.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry’s reflection in the glass as he waved his wand to read another page, or try to read, the ink was so worn and faded and in a language he could not read it was more appreciating the intricacies of the detail work than anything. “They were bound in dragonhide Harry, no matter the flames the muggles used to burn the rest of the library down, it would never be hot enough in those days to burn through dragonhide.”

“Oh,” Harry said and leaned against the bar that kept them at least a meter away from the case. “So it’s only wizarding books that survived then.”

“Yes,” Draco said slowly, wondering where Harry was going with this.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “Yeah. Wonder what those muggle scholars would think if they learned anything had survived the destruction of the library, don’t you?”

Draco turned to give Harry his full attention, “Well, I imagine they’d be a bit more preoccupied with learning that magic exists in general.”

“True,” Harry said with a snort of laughter.

Then his eye was caught on another part of the exhibit and they toured around for a while, looking at cups that had been enchanted with powerful spells and kept them from destruction, more books bound in dragonhide, and numerous other oddities that somehow through spellwork or mere chance had happened to survive the fire.

Being around all those objects that had gone through the massive destruction of the burning of the Library of Alexandria had Draco feeling like he had dust caught in his throat. It felt a little like he was around items that were much like himself, only through mere happenstance did any of them survive a roaring inferno. He wondered who went back to explore the embers of the fire and discovered all these artefacts that survived. If there were any wizards or witches who were in the library when the fire started, and if there had been, if they’d gotten out, or if they died scared of the flames like he was.

Draco felt a sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to touch some of the relics, just so see if he could feel what the last person who had handled them felt. Or perhaps, to see if he could feel the violence and destruction that must be burned into them as much as the scorch marks on their covers. As he stared at the books he felt a little grateful that he, unlike they, had come out of the fire he was caught in unscathed physically. At least it wouldn’t have to go around with a constant physical reminder of that day, having the tattoo on his arm was far more than enough.

Harry reappeared at his side, a warm presence to his left that helped Draco feel grounded and present. Then Harry’s hand curled around his elbow and Draco couldn’t help jumping a little in surprise at the contact. “Hey, I think they’re closing soon,” Harry said, whispering very close to Draco’s ear.

It was much later than he had thought, Draco had not realized how much time they spent in the exhibit until they were leaving and he cast a quick _tempus_. It was nearly time for the museum to close, and they’d hardly seen half of it.

“Oh,” Draco said, turning to Harry apologetically. “We’ll have to come back. I’m sorry I took so long in there, there’s so much you didn’t get to see.”

Harry shrugged and smiled at him. “It’s okay. This place is enormous, I imagine it would take a few days at least to see it all.” They walked together through the exit before Harry spoke again. “Have you ever looked at the muggle exhibits?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised him, and yet it had, Draco stumbled slightly on the steps as they made their way down to the street. Harry let out a startled sound and then his hands were warm on Draco’s arms, helping him regain his balance.

“Easy there,” Harry said, looking at Draco with concern.

“I’m fine,” Draco said and waved off Harry’s hands. “But to answer your question, yes, sometimes.” Harry was looking at him with such open curiosity that Draco had to look away, certain he was just going to disappoint Harry in some way when he would continue talking. “Not as often as I probably should, but they do have rather interesting exhibits as well.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, Draco kept looking into the shops they passed by and wondering if perhaps they should stop for some food.

“We should do some of the muggle exhibits next time.” Harry said decidedly. Then he knocked his shoulders with Draco’s, and when Draco looked over Harry was giving him that stupidly charming sideways grin of his that Draco found impossible to deny.

“Next time?” he asked for clarification anyway. He’d had a feeling that Harry would enjoy the trip to the museum, and if he wanted to return that was even better.

Harry knocked their shoulders together again. “Yeah, next time you prat. Or are you going to leave me to explore the bowels of the museum alone?”

They turned with the street, and the shops turned into quaint little restaurants. “Of course not. Unless you’re afraid to go by yourself?”

“You wish, Malfoy,” Harry said with a snort of laughter. Then he raised his chin and took in a deep breath. “Oh man, that smells amazing. Do you want to get some food?”

Draco had continued walking while Harry stopped and now turned around to look at him and felt his breath catch in his chest when Harry opened his eyes again. With the sun setting earlier now that they were eeking toward winter it was slanting down the street in such a way it set off a golden glow along the white painted buildings. And Harry stood right in the light, with gold glinting off the rims of his glasses and illuminating lighter strands in his hair. It wasn’t fair how gorgeous he looked then. Even ill and recovering, Harry could take Draco’s breath away.

He swallowed roughly and tried to push those feelings down.

“Yeah,” he said and swallowed again. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything!” Harry said empathically. “Which one smells the best?” He asked and then started stalking down the street, taking in audible breaths through his nose as he tried to smell all the food from the restaurants he passed.

Draco followed, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s antics.

Harry briefly ducked into one with a bright yellow door, and by the time Draco caught up and was approaching the door, Harry burst back out of it looking very excited.

“Come on Draco,” he said, grabbing Draco’s hand and pulling him inside. “This is the one that’s making the street smell nice. Can’t you smell that? Fresh bread!”

Draco let himself be dragged inside, laughing a little at Harry. But Harry was right, the place smelled heavenly, like fresh bread and garlic and the heady smell of cooking tomato sauce. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had Italian,” Draco commented as Harry had a brief exchange with the woman behind the bar.

She waved at them to take a seat wherever they wanted. Harry chose one of the tables that were by the front window so they could see the people milling around on the street. Thanks to the chill in the air, not many of the other patrons elected to sit there since it was rather drafty and cold by the window. A few well concealed warming charms fixed that right quick though, and Draco slid into the seat across Harry, warm and a little pleased.

The food was warm and delicious, and sitting across from Harry, sharing it with him, felt somehow more intimate than any of the meals they’d shared together at the house. Perhaps it was the time of day, or perhaps it was because of what he’d been thinking about back in the museum, but whatever the reason everything felt more weighted right then. As though everything had been slowly slotting together and now all the pieces were working well together.

Harry laughed at Draco’s observation about the old man he occasionally saw for rarer ingredients, the kind of laugh where he threw his head back in abandon because he was so taken with amusement. Perhaps not all the pieces were working well together yet. There was something missing. A little touch of the full depth of the truth, if Draco could ever bring himself to bare that kind of truth to Harry. With each passing day the hopeful part of his heart grew, but he had never been a particularly brave man, and it took a certain level of bravery to show his heart to the one who held it in his hands. A kind of bravery that Draco wasn’t sure he possessed.

As they finished dinner, Draco tried to ignore his pounding heart. It wouldn’t do to stress Harry right now by admitting his feelings. Should he find the bravery within himself to do it, he needed to do it at the right time.

They paid their bill and left the restaurant. Draco fell into step beside Harry as they wandered down the street again. It was getting late, the sun had set while they were eating, and it was decidedly colder out now. Draco cast another warming charm and wrapped his arms around himself as they kept walking. He was about to suggest that they head on home, worried that the cold would make Harry sick, when Harry took an exaggerated breath in beside him.

“I just love the way the air smells as it become autumn, don’t you?” he asked, shooting a smile at Draco.

He breathed in, in a less exaggerated fashion. It did smell like that particular crispness the air would get as the seasons changed, it was one of Draco’s favourite smells. “Yes, it smells like change.” Draco said and quirked a grin of his own at Harry. He enjoyed the way Harry blinked at him before his grin widened.

“It does. It makes me think of starting school, you know? The whole year ahead and everything.” Harry said, sounding wistful.

“Yeah, until quidditch training would start and then you’re out in the freezing winds trying to keep an eye out for the snitch while the rains pelt down.” Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

Harry let out a bark of laughter and knocked his shoulder into Draco’s shoving him off balance. He stumbled a few steps and turned to look at Harry, spluttering in surprise and indignation. “What is it with you and shoving me around?”

Harry blinked innocently at him, “Who, me?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, right, so I just tripped all by myself then?” Draco straightened the fall of his trousers and looked back at Harry with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, you have been clumsy today.” Harry said, and Draco could see him biting his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

Draco shook his head and started walking again, with Harry falling into step beside him quickly enough. “You are a prat,” he said, but found himself smiling nonetheless. He’d let Harry think he’d got one over on Draco, then he’d get back at him.

Many of the shops they were passing now had dark windows, Draco was a little surprised by how early these places closed. But then something caught his eye in one of the lit windows. It was for a little bakery and they’d decked out the window in decorations for Halloween. Inside there were places where they would put the baked goods for the day, each strategically put inside of the decorations. There was a miniature little village of sorts on the bottom of the window, houses with spots to hold cupcakes, and then climbing up the window were dead trees, silhouettes of cats, and bats flying overhead. The light from the window was coming from a string of orange fairy lights that were hung around the window frame inside. It was oddly charming.

“Muggles really like Halloween, don’t they?” Draco asked, staring at the display. There seemed to be so many things to look at inside.

Harry came up beside him, leaning in close to the window to get a look at the detailing on the tiny houses. “I guess so,” he said with a shrug and turned back to look at Draco. “The ones I lived with didn’t at all.”

Draco pursed his lips, unsurprised to learn this. “It’s cute though,” he said, feeling like he needed to change the subject away from muggles, and Harry’s muggle relatives and the inevitable conclusion that road lead to about how Halloween would likely never been a happy day for Harry.

Harry smiled as he took another look at the window. “Yeah, I like the cats, they’re cute.”

Draco nudged Harry’s shoulder with his. “It’s just the shape of them.”

“Yeah, I know, still cute. I like cats.” Harry said with a grin. “Their little twitchy ears,” he said, bringing his hands up so he could curl his fingers above his head and wiggle them around like they were ears of some sort.

Draco let out a snicker, “You sure you’re not thinking of rabbits.”

Harry’s fingers stilled and he frowned at Draco. “No. Cats.” he said with a stubborn jut of his jaw. “But not kneazles. Those are nice, but they don’t do dumb things like cats do.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, wondering when Harry was around a cat, but not a kneazle. “What kind of things.”

“Oh, well, once when I was at Mrs. Figg’s one of her cats was trying to jump from the counter to the top of the fridge.” Harry brought his hands down from his head. “It was doing that up-down thing with its body like it couldn’t decide if it could do it. But then I guess it thought it could cause it made this leap off the counter--but it only went about a quarter of the way there and then it was falling to the ground with all it’s legs spread.” Harry started laughing. “Of course it landed on its feet and looked around like that was what it had intended to do the whole time.” He leaned in closer to Draco to whisper, “But I knew. _I knew_.”

And that was it, Draco lost himself in a fit of giggles thinking about Harry sitting there watching this cat and silently judging it. Maybe he’d have to get one if they were all that silly. It’d certainly be worth it if it let Harry tell him more stories.

Then Harry was suddenly closer, right up in Draco’s space. His laughter sobered as Harry caught his eye and he was arrested by the intensity within them.

“Harry--” he started to asked, but then Harry’s hand was cupping the back of his head and he lost his words.

Harry’s face got even closer, and Draco felt his heart speed intensely. Then Harry’s lips were touching his, warm and dry and chaste, before Harry stepped infinitesimally closer, their chests touching together as Harry lips pressed more insistently against his.

It felt like something inside him shifted in between one moment and the next. It was like he had a thousand tiny fingers trailing up his spine at the touch of Harry's lips against his. A small desperate sound erupted from his chest, and then Draco was kissing Harry back with just as much need as he wrapped his hands around Harry's shoulders, pulling him even closer.

He couldn't think. It was too much to be kissing Harry. To be kissing Harry because _Harry kissed him_. It was too much to believe to be real, and yet he had Harry's hand warm at the nape of his neck, Harry's chest firm against his own, and Harry's lips soft and sweet on his.

They parted, and Draco was grateful for a moment to breathe, to ground himself. But he was even more grateful when he opened his eyes and got to see Harry staring at him hungrily as he licked his bottom lip to chase the taste of Draco in it. Draco felt something hot and demanding uncurl in his gut at the sight.

He rubbed his fingers against Harry's shoulders and was overcome by a high incredulous giggle that he could not stifle. "We're such fools," he said with a grin. He couldn't believe that Harry wanted to kiss him, wanted _him_ , but that he did meant they must have been skirting around this for a bit of time.

Harry's lips upturned into a small grin that Draco, now that he knew he could, leaned in to kiss off his face. He could feel the laugh erupt from Harry's chest and opened his mouth to catch it, tasting Harry's elation on his tongue.

When they parted again later, breathless and flushed, Harry looked at him with eyes slightly glazed. "Take me home, Draco."

And Draco did.


	16. Chapter 16

They stumbled into each other upon landing, Draco felt a little too ruffled and giddy to apparate them as smoothly as possible. Harry's grip on his arms tightened as they found their footing. Then he looked up at Draco, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"All right there?" Harry asked with a wry grin.

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, you?" He asked, settling his hands on Harry's hips hesitantly. It was hard to believe that they were finally here now. That he could touch Harry and not be pushed away.

"I think so," Harry said. Then his grin transformed from something wry to something with a bit more weight. "Now, where were we?" He asked rhetorically, as in the next moment he crowded closer and brought his lips to Draco's again.

Draco moaned at the touch of Harry’s lips on his again. Just from the first light brush, Draco felt like his mind was flying. He felt a shiver of anticipatory excitement travel up his spine and smiled into the kiss before he tentatively opened his lips to bite down on Harry's plush lower lip. The groan he got from Harry in response had heat shooting through Draco's veins. He worried Harry’s lip for a moment before licking along it in apology. Harry’s hands clenched where they were on Draco’s hips and then his tongue came out to meet Draco’s, the warm slick slide of it had Draco’s toes curling in his shoes.

Harry pushed and pulled at him, his hands like burning coals on Draco’s hips, he felt a bit like Harry’s touch was burning through his clothes, like Harry’s tongue was branding him. Draco felt wholly consumed. He reveled in the feeling and pulled Harry’s hips flush with his own, letting out a surprised grunt when he felt Harry’s erection nestle against his own. Harry made an appreciative sound and ground his hips against Draco, kissing him harder before he pulled away slightly to look at Draco through half-lidded eyes.

“You okay with this?” Harry asked his voice a deeper tone that curled around Draco in the most enticing way.

That Harry would even ask, had Draco feeling a bit like his chest was expanding. “Yes,” he said, his own voice coming out far more gravelly than he’d ever heard it. Due to how close they were standing, Draco was able to see the way that Harry’s pupils dilated at his response.

Then Harry ducked back in, but instead of kissing Draco’s lips he flutter kisses down Draco’s jaw and along the column of his throat. His teeth scraped along Draco’s skin, leaving a tingling feeling behind.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, his fingers fluttering on Harry’s hips. When Harry just made a low growl in the back of his throat Draco took it as permission to lift Harry’s shirt and stroke his fingers on the hot skin of Harry’s sides. He let his hands wander, delighting in the soft huffs that Harry gave when Draco’s fingers stroked over his stomach.

Draco pulled back from Harry’s questing mouth, taking a slight step away so he could catch his breath. “Do you--” He had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he took in how disheveled Harry looked right then. “Do you want to move?” he asked finally.

Harry’s lips quirked up into a grin and he raised his eyebrow. “What you don’t like the front hall?” he asked, hands slipping back to Draco’s hips and pulling him close again.

“I’m pretty sure we have far more comfortable rooms, Harry,” Draco said with a half laugh that turned into a real one when Harry stepped close again and moved his fingers along Draco’s sides, tickling him.

“Mm, I’ll have to remember that for later,” Harry said under his breath and leaned in to capture Draco’s lips in another kiss. When he pulled away again he whispered into Draco’s ear, “Why don’t you show me to your room?”

A pleasurable shudder ran through Draco’s body and then he took Harry’s hand and pulled him along up the stairs and to his bedroom.

Now, and without the heat of Harry right upon him, Draco had a bit of time to think. He might know how he felt about Harry, and for how long he’d wanted the other man, but he felt that perhaps, perhaps things were moving a little quickly. Draco stilled before he made it across the threshold of his door, and turned around to face Harry, feeling apprehension close around his heart in a spiked cage.

“Draco?” Harry asked with a slight smile on his face that fell away when he took in Draco’s expression. “Are you okay?” He reached out and wrapped a warm hand around Draco’s bicep.

Draco found the gesture comforting and couldn’t help swaying a little back into Harry’s warmth. He took in a breath and looked into Harry’s green eyes that were open with undisguised concern. Just looking at him filled Draco’s heart even more with affection for him, and he knew he could tell Harry what was bothering him. “Do you want this?” he asked, hating himself a little for how small his voice sounded in that moment.

“Yes,” Harry said immediately, his hand squeezing Draco’s arm. “Of course I do, but--” he stepped closer, looking up into Draco’s eyes with earnest intensity before he continued to speak. “If you don’t, that’s okay.”

It was as though all of his emotions were caught in his throat, choking his words back. Draco just shook his head and gave Harry a shaky smile. Then he could finally clear his throat and say, “It’s not that, not really.” He rose his hand and placed it on Harry’s chest. Feeling the steady beat of Harry’s heart beneath his palm helped Draco feel grounded, and he let a breath out through his nose. “I-it just feels a little...fast is all.” Draco stroked his fingers over Harry’s chest, staring down at them instead of into Harry’s eyes that always revealed far too much. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And he was, because he wanted Harry, oh how he wanted Harry, but he wanted Harry for more than just this one time, for more than just right this moment. A part of him feared that for Harry this was just for right now, that if they went any further it would ruin the friendship they’d built together. Especially since they’d not talked about any of it. Draco needed to be certain that if they should cross any more thresholds together, it wouldn’t ruin what they already had.

“Draco--” Harry said his name in a breath like he’d been punched in the gut. “No. It’s fine. It’s okay.” He pulled Draco into a loose hug, his arms encircling Draco and pulling him close. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said and smiled up at Draco. Then he shrugged and said, “So we take it slow. I don’t mind. I just want to be with you. Okay?” He studied Draco’s face for a moment, and Draco wondered what Harry was looking for, and then he asked, “Can I kiss you again?”

A flush bloomed up Draco’s chest and neck at Harry’s question. Instead of verbally answering him, Draco leaned in and claimed Harry’s lips again. He might not think going farther than kissing was a great idea right now, but kissing, kissing was brilliant.

When they parted again, Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder and let out a small laugh. “I’m far too knackered for anything else anyway,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Draco said, suddenly filled with worried thoughts about having pushed Harry too hard to do too many things in one day. How foolish he’d been, of course, it’d be taxing for him. “Well, off to bed with you then.” He stepped back a bit and tried to steer them toward Harry’s room.

Harry wouldn’t budge, though, he kept a firm hold on Draco preventing him from moving either. “Would you lie with me?” he asked, looking at Draco steadily.

"Just to sleep?" Draco asked, feeling rather off balance.

"Yeah," Harry breathed and then looked down. "I--do you remember when you came and took me away from Grimmauld?"

"Yes, of course," Draco said at once.

Harry looked back up at him then, looking quite startled. "Oh," he said and smiled. "Well. At the time, it was hard not to just pull you under the blankets with me."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment, shock spreading across his mind and making his tongue feel heavy. "Since then?" He finally managed to ask.

Harry shivered before him and ducked his head. "Yeah," he mumbled to his shoes.

He looked like he was trying to hunch down and hide inside himself, and Draco couldn't have that. He brought a hand up to tilt Harry's chin back up so he could kiss him fiercely. Harry had wanted him for all this time, and Draco felt like his heart was soaring. "Good," he said as he pulled away. But this time he tugged Harry with him through his bedroom door saying, "Come to bed, Harry."

Harry let Draco pull him along, his eyes wide with surprise, but a pleased little smile teased at his lips. "Okay," he said quietly.

Draco smiled in return and led Harry inside and gestured to his bed. "I need to wash up, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

"Okay," Harry said again with a nod and started for Draco's bed.

Watching Harry advance on his bed had a powerful shot of lust shooting down Draco's spine. He turned away to the bathroom to keep those thoughts at bay, Harry needed rest, and Draco felt a bit of the buzzing of anxiety under his skin lessen knowing that they'd go slow together.

When he came back into the bedroom, Harry was already swaddled under the covers. With just his unruly mop and flushed face poking out he looked so much younger, Draco's heart clenched--so much more fragile.

"Your bed is nicer than mine," Harry said in a grumpy tone when Draco approached.

Draco lifted the covers and climbed inside. "Oh?" He asked, nearly sure that wasn't the case. He was pretty certain his mother wouldn't allow them to have uncomfortable guest beds.

"Yes," Harry said. Then his hand snaked out and wrapped around Draco's wrist, from which he tried to tug Draco closer. "It smells like you."

"Oh," Draco said a little breathlessly. He scooted over a little and then Harry rolled until he could wrap his arms around Draco, making him feel like he'd gotten in bed with a very affectionate octopus. Draco let out a small sigh, reveling in how safe and wanted he felt in that moment. He freed his arm from under Harry and wrapped it around his body instead, lifting his hand so he could thread his fingers through Harry's hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

Harry made a pleased little sound and pressed his face into Draco's shoulder.

When Harry's breathing seemed to slow, Draco spoke softly, "I've wanted this for a long time too." It felt freeing to finally be able to admit this to Harry.

"Yeah?" Came Harry's voice in a sleepy mumble.

Draco nodded and turned his head so he could press a kiss to Harry's forehead. "Yeah." He swallowed and closed his eyes. "I didn't want to scare you."

Harry huffed out a breath and continued to mumble into Draco's shoulder, "You don't scare me, Malfoy."

A smile curving on his lips, Draco squeezed Harry lightly. "Go to sleep," he said quietly.

Miraculously, it seemed like Harry listened. His breathing evened out and soon his tight grip on Draco went lax as he fell deeper into slumber. It didn't take long for Draco to follow, feeling as warm and content as he did then.

\--

Wakefulness came upon Draco slowly, until he felt that he wasn't alone in bed and consciousness crashed over him like ice water. His arm was pinned under another body, so he turned toward it slightly as he opened his eyes. Harry was already awake and watching him with a soft expression in his eyes that had Draco feeling a little self-conscious. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been drooling, but who knew how long Harry had been awake for.

“Morning,” Harry said, his voice quiet but cheerful.

“Good morning,” Draco greeted as he took his arm out from under Harry, but then Harry snagged his hand and held it close. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, looking at Harry’s face carefully, trying to detect any signs of Harry having strained himself too much the day before.

But Harry was just all smiles, and he tugged Draco closer by the grip he had on Draco’s hand. “Yeah,” he said, his tone shyer than Draco expected. “Did you?”

Draco scooted closer, unable to resist Harry’s warmth. “Yes,” he said with a smile. He couldn’t really believe that he was here, lying in bed with Harry Potter, that Harry wanted to be here with him. It was a little overwhelming to think about, so instead he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s, swallowing down the giddiness that bubbled up inside because he was able to do this now.

Harry made a small sound as he shifted closer, kissing Draco with an abandon that was just so indicative of him it had Draco’s heart thudding loudly in his chest. They kissed softly, with little gasps escaping their mouths as they parted. Draco found his hands had buried in Harry’s unruly hair, and he kept running them through the surprisingly soft strands. “What do you want to do today?” Draco asked, unable to stop smiling at Harry.

 

“I wouldn’t mind staying here with you,” Harry said and bit his lip. “I don’t mean--” He shook his head suddenly and when he looked back at Draco his eyes were earnest, “I’m just really happy you want me too, but I don’t want to push you.”

Draco pulled back a little to give himself some space to ask, “What do you feel for me, Harry?” He felt a little presumptuous asking the question, but his need to know overrode any hesitancy he felt about asking. Harry’s friendship meant too much to Draco for him to gamble it on his libido.

“I like you,” Harry said immediately, a smile teasing at his lips. The he buried his face in the pillow his head was on.

“I like you too,” Draco said and stroked a hand down Harry’s arm. “But I like being your friend, and I don’t want--I don’t want to ruin that.” He couldn’t look at Harry anymore and abruptly turned onto his back so he could stare at the ceiling, he’d bared too much. Except he hadn’t, not really. Draco knew he was in love with Harry, but now was decidedly not the time to reveal that bit of information.

There was a sound of shifting fabric as Harry moved, and then his body was warm and stiff as he leaned against Draco. He was practically sprawling out across Draco’s chest so he could look down at Draco’s face, despite Draco’s best efforts to avoid Harry’s determined gaze. “Good,” Harry said with a smile. “Because I want to keep kissing you, but I want to keep being friends, too.”

“You do?” Draco asked, unable to temper the disbelief in his tone.

Harry let out a soft huffing laugh, his gaze softening as he looked at Draco. “Yeah. Why, what did you think?”

“I...it's just, you could have anyone,” Draco said, his throat dry. Harry’s gaze was weighty, and Draco felt a bit inferior being the focus of it.

But then Harry was wrapping his arms tight around Draco, pulling their chests together. He leaned in so his forehead rested against Draco's, making them both go a bit cross-eyed. “Maybe,” he said with a huff. “But I _want_  you. I want to be with you, Draco.” He spoke like the words were easy, like they cost him nothing to admit.

Draco could not help shuddering under Harry. He let out a breath through his nose, trying to center his feelings, for he thought he might fly apart with how filled up Harry’s words made him feel. Taking another breath in had him taking in Harry’s intoxicating scent that pulled his lips into a smile at the way it made him calmer. “Okay,” he said in a whisper and ran his fingers up Harry’s jawline and into his hair before pulling him into another kiss. A small needy sound escaped his throat unheeded when Harry pressed closer. Draco was half sure he could lie there kissing Harry until they became one with the mattress. There was just something utterly intoxicating about Harry’s touch, about the way Harry’s tongue pressed slick and hot against his, and the way Harry’s weight pressed him back into the bed. It was like something slotted into place in his mind and for the first time in ages Draco felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was safe, warm, and wanted.

 ****  


They spent the morning in bed together, and it was probably the best morning Draco ever had to date. Just holding and kissing Harry, and talking a little about more serious things, but mostly just spent the morning together, enjoying the freedom of finally being able to do so.

Then Lark popped into the room and advised them that Narcissa would be joining them for luncheon, popping the lovely bubble of timelessness that Draco felt they’d woken up in. He turned to look at Harry after Lark disappeared and said, “Well, we should get out of bed then.”

Harry’s grin made his eyes crinkle up in the corners and he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Draco’s lips. “Guess we couldn’t stay here forever,” he said. Then he sat up and pulled himself out of bed.

“Too bad,” Draco couldn’t help saying with a grin as he watched Harry stretch. “I’d much rather stay than go face Mother.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter and looked down at Draco who was still in bed, shaking his head. “Come on, it won’t be bad.”

Draco huffed and crossed his arms, “You have no idea how insufferable she can be.” He shook his head and bit his lip. It wasn’t just that he was sure she’d get some good teasing in, a larger part of him was afraid that despite everything she wouldn’t approve--or that once anyone knew about them that Harry would come to his senses and change his mind. Draco didn’t think he could take it if that happened.

“Come on, Draco, it’s gonna be fine,” Harry said, his voice a little softer.

When Draco looked back up at Harry he saw that Harry had his hand out for Draco to grab, and was watching him with a slightly worried expression. Then all at once Draco knew that Harry wasn’t going to just abandon him once they left the room. He wouldn’t be Harry if he did.

Draco swallowed down his fear and took hold of the hand Harry held out for him. Harry helped pull him out of bed but didn’t release his hand once Draco was standing. With Harry’s grip strong and secure around his hand, Draco knew they’d be able to face whatever came at them, together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there lovelies! I am so, so sorry that this chapter took an age and a half for me to update with, life kind of chewed me up for the past few months. I do hope that you enjoyed this story, I've decided that for the meat of this story this is where I want to end it--it is part of the same universe as a few other one-shots so it's likely I'll add more one-shots as time goes on. But for Draco's story of dealing with this anxiety and ptsd, this is where I feel is the best place to end. (And where I wanted to end it anyway, but it was meant to take a bit longer to get here, but our boys are a little unpredictable)
> 
> I have had such lovely feedback from so many of you, and I am so touched and so pleased that my little self-indulgent story has been able to reach you, and that it means something to you, as well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you so very much for leaving comments and letting me know what you've enjoyed! I appreciate all of you wonderful readers. Thank you for coming along for the ride!


End file.
